“You know these young people,” she said with a dismissive wave. “They don’t appreciate the quality and dignity of turn-of-the-century architecture.”
“Then they should find a new house—with modern embellishments.”
“It won’t be your house anymore,” Lisa said with a grin. “What will you care? You’ll have your money. The full asking price, I’m betting.”
Ryanne’s stomach squeezed into a knot.
“Say, you’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
Biting her lip, Ryanne shook her head. She listened to the woman’s assurances that she’d call her as soon as she had an offer and watched her return to her car.
“That piece goes here,” Jamie said.
“Oh.” Ryanne had been holding a puzzle piece for the past five minutes, lost in troubled thoughts. She worked the cardboard cutout in and pressed it down.
“Good job,” he said. “That was a tough one.”
Nick came home soon after, and they exchanged a few stilted pleasantries before she excused herself and went home.
Staring at the beautiful leaded glass cabinets, she imagined the new owners taking them out and replacing them with sleek sliding glass doors and an eyesore of a hot tub. Why, that would look like—like Benny Perkins’s throw-up!
Disgusted, Ryanne made herself a sandwich and did a load of laundry. She was going to have to let go.
Throughout the evening, she looked around and mentally released each piece of furniture and each fixture. She’d told Nick he was always trying to make other people happy and not pleasing himself, but she had issues of her own to work through. The beautiful California condo hadn’t really pleased her; the Lamborghini had been surprisingly easy to let go. Parting with all the things she’d once considered so important paled beside leaving this house for good—and the thought of leaving Nick and Jamie was even worse.
Days like today had shown her that spending an hour watching an anthill or throwing rocks in the creek was time well spent for her peace of mind and contentment. Jamie had taken her back to her days of carefree youth, reminded her of the good things she’d never appreciated.
Nick had shown her that people were more important than promotions and raises. Jobs and possessions would never give her the sense of worth she sought. Unconsciously she’d been coveting a place where she really mattered; she’d been seeking self-respect, looking for someone who would love her unconditionally.
Nick had given her all that and more. And she’d thrown it all back at him.
Lightning arced downward, splitting the night sky with radiance, then disappearing. Ryanne stood on her front porch and watched the vivid, ethereal light show. Thunder shook the panes of the leaded window behind her. A startlingly cool breeze whipped her hair and spat a few cold drops of rain on her arms and face. She went inside to shut off lights and the window units, then gathered a pillow and a crocheted afghan and snuggled into the creaky porch swing to watch the storm.
Even with the wind and lightning raging on all sides, she felt no fear in this place, and she realized she had always felt safe here. Her thoughts traveled to Albany, a city she’d only visited, felt no special affinity for, yet planned to make her home. The cost of living was definitely higher than here. There were reports of layoffs, so how secure would her position be?
With no seniority in the company, she could lose her job and have nothing on which to fall back. Nowhere to come back to. Because this safe place would be gone.
Leaving wasn’t what she really wanted to do. And now she knew it. But unless a miracle happened, she was locked into this course of action.
* * *
SOMETIME DURING THE night, Ryanne moved from the damp swing to the couch in the living room. The phone woke her early the next morning.
“Ryanne! We’ve sold the Lamborghini! Where do you want the money sent?”
Forrest Perry’s excited voice shook the last shreds of sleep from her brain. Was this her miracle? “Just like that? No haggling over the price?”
“Nope. You get exactly what you asked and I get a healthy commission. Thank you for the business. Just let me know where to have the funds deposited.”
“Wait.” Ryanne dug her bankbook from a drawer in the dining room and read him the number for her depleted savings account. She thanked him and hung up. A twist of good fortune at last!
A new feeling of hope welled inside her. This would pacify the IRS for at least another six months and considerably lower the payments. She flipped through her phone book, called the contact person with whom she’d been dealing, and identified herself.
After the agent took her identification number and found her account, she said, “I’m making a substantial payment this week. What can we do to make arrangements for the balance?”
Later, Ryanne sang in the shower, dressed and made another call. “Lisa? This is Ryanne Davidson. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to sell the house.”
The Realtor was silent a moment. “You’re staying in Elmwood?”
The decision slid into place in that moment. Ryanne didn’t want to go to Albany. She didn’t want to establish herself all over again in the cutthroat advertising business. She wanted to stay. “Yes. I’m staying. Can I get out of the listing agreement?”
Over the phone, Ryanne could hear paper ripping.
“Hear that? I’m sorry to lose a client, but pleased as punch to have you for a new neighbor. That’s the papers you signed. They’re in the trash.”
“Thank you, Lisa. Thank you.”
Ryanne ran across the soggy ground to the house next door, hoping to be in time for Jamie when he woke. Knocking, she entered the kitchen. Nick’s coffee smelled delicious; she poured herself a cup and took a sip.
She felt more than heard Nick’s presence behind her, and turned slowly. He stood in the doorway, dressed in casual slacks and a knit pullover, holding a mug.
The sight caught her off guard. “Where’s your uniform?”
“In my closet.”
“You’re not going to work?”
“No.” He crossed to the coffeemaker and refilled his cup.
“Is everything okay?”
When he turned back to her, she noted how he hesitated for a moment, then said, “As okay as it’s going to get.”
Footsteps pattered down the stairs and Jamie shot into the room. “Hey, Rye!”
“Hey, big guy.”
The boy plopped onto a seat in the cushioned nook.
“What would you like for breakfast?” she asked.
“Just orange juice. Dad’s takin’ me to the Waggin’ Tongue for buffalo pancakes!”
“Oh.” Suddenly, she felt very much like an outsider. Nick hadn’t bothered to call to let her know he wouldn’t be needing her to stay with Jamie. That was odd.
“Dad’s taking a vacation,” Jamie added. “Aren’t you, Dad?”
Nick nodded.
“You could have let me know,” she said, hurt and probably not covering it up well.
“I didn’t know myself,” he replied.
“He put in his renegation,” Jamie added.
“His what?”
“Resignation,” Nick corrected.
Ryanne’s attention riveted on Nick in surprise. “You’re resigning?”
He nodded.
“From the county?”
He nodded again. Leaning a hip against the counter, he looked into his mug and then at her. “You said a lot of things that made sense. I was trying to make up for Justin’s death in all the ways you pointed out.” He glanced at Jamie, and she understood he was talking about marrying Holly, as well as the sheriff’s job. “I’m going to do some things I want to do now.”
“Expand your business?” she asked, excited for him.
He nodded and set down his cup. “And take some vacation time before school starts. I’m shopping for land for offices and a showroom. Jamie and I are going to fly to Disney World.”
Ryanne couldn’t have been more surpri
sed. Or more pleased. Jamie would be thrilled to have more time with his father. And Nick deserved to live out his own life without trying to please and take care of everyone else. But her sense of alienation also intensified. Nick and Jamie had each other—and Mel.
She had...well, she had a chance to start over, too.
“Dad, look!” Jamie shouted.
He had pulled back the curtain and was sitting on his knees in the seat, staring out the window.
“What are you looking at now?” Nick asked.
“The sign! The house-seller lady is taking down the sign!”
Nick leaned over his son and looked out the window.
Lisa Crenshaw hadn’t lost any time getting out to remove the For Sale sign, Ryanne thought gratefully.
Slowly, Nick straightened. Jamie let the curtain fall back. Two sets of vivid blue eyes turned accusingly on Ryanne.
“Those people who want a hot tub bought your house,” Jamie said, dejection wilting his formerly exuberant posture.
“The house sold,” Nick echoed.
Ryanne studied the hurt in their eyes, her recent impression of estrangement dissipating in the realization that they both loved her and were crushed at the thought of her leaving.
She shook her head. “No,” she managed to say.
“They didn’t buy it?” Jamie asked. “Then who did?”
“No one did. I changed my mind. I’m not going to Albany. I’m staying.”
Jamie let out a whoop, but Nick simply stared at her.
“I never understood Elmwood before,” she said, hoping to explain. “I never appreciated it, never understood that the people really care about each other. I wanted to leave for all the wrong reasons. I thought job status and financial success would give me the fulfillment I was looking for. But they didn’t.
“And then,” she continued, “pride carried me further than I ever should have gone. Pride kept me from being entirely honest with you about my financial and marital situation, too.”
Nick found his voice. “Jamie, go wake up your grandpa.”
Jamie scurried toward the hall that led to Mel’s room. “I’m gonna tell him the good news!”
When they were alone, Ryanne let the last manacles of pride and embarrassment fall from her shoulders like a heavy mantle. She took a deep breath. “Mason was never faithful to me.”
Nick’s eyes revealed his empathy. “I’m sorry, Rye.”
“That’s the least of it. He never paid taxes, either. By the time I got wise, he had funneled all of the company accounts into his own pocket, eradicating any hope of turning things around, and disappeared. The debt I owe is to the IRS. I sold everything I owned, but it was only enough to hold them off for a while.”
“Disappeared?”
“I spent five hundred dollars a day for a private investigator until there was nothing left. If the government can’t find Mason, I don’t have a prayer.”
“But you are divorced?”
She nodded. “I divorced him after I found out about the women...but before I learned about the company.”
“You could have told me,” Nick said.
“You would have wanted to help.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t have thought less of you.”
“No, I guess you wouldn’t have. But there you have it. The whole ugly truth. And the reason I came back here. I thought I was a failure.”
“So this is why you thought I’d feel sorry for you.”
“Yes.”
“And pride is what kept you from letting me help.”
The word came out with greater difficulty this time. “Y-yes. Can you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Rye. In fact, I have a lot to thank you for.”
“You do?”
He nodded and took a few steps closer. “Your confidence and ability to dream big dreams are the perfect counterbalance for old steadfast Nick, don’t you think?”
She shrugged, but smiled at his bright outlook.
“I need you to challenge me,” he said.
“That’s never a problem, is it?” When he reached for her hand, she almost cried with happiness. He still wanted her.
“I guess success is being fulfilled with whatever you love to do,” he said, and touched her cheek. “I’m going to expand my restoration business. What would you love to do?”
“I thought about that all night,” she said, enthusiasm returning to her voice. “I think I’d like to try my hand at buying and selling furniture and collectibles. Do you think Elmwood is ready for an antiques shop?”
“You’d be great at that.” His eyes twinkled with hope and happiness. “Anything else you’d like to try?”
“Like what?”
“You had another offer recently. Have you forgotten?”
His proposal, of course. And she’d jumped to the conclusion that he was just trying to take care of her.
“That’s an important position, Nick.”
“You bet it is.”
“I’d expect a signing bonus.”
Amusement turned up one side of his incredibly kissable mouth. “Such as?”
“Such as a loan to pay off the IRS, so I can avoid the killer compounding interest.”
“You’d let me?”
“I would pay you back.”
He pulled her into his arms and she went eagerly. “We could work that out.” He kissed her with all the love and devotion he had to offer, with the same hope and expectancy she was feeling. The happiness she’d sought for so long had been right next door—and she’d been too foolish to realize it.
“Where will we live?” Nick asked, one eyebrow raised in question.
“My house would make a good showplace for an antiques shop...and I’d be living right here beside it.”
“See, Grampa!” Jamie shouted behind her. “I told ya she’s staying! And my dad’s kissing her again!”
As though he regretted the untimely interruption, Nick ended the kiss, but gazed into her eyes and smiled. “That’s not all, Jamie. I’m going to marry her, too!”
“Whoopee!”
“Now we can all go have buffalo pancakes together!”
Ryanne wasn’t sure whose shout was louder, Jamie’s or Mel’s. But Nick’s laughter was definitely the most resonating. He threw back his head and laughed, and she joined him. Jamie and Mel enveloped them, and teary hugs were exchanged.
* * *
THAT NIGHT RYANNE left Nick while she ran to the house and packed a few more belongings. She would need a suitcase for the trip to Florida, where she and Nick would be married.
Placing items in her carry-on, she thought over the day, over all that had transpired and the plans they’d made so joyfully. She’d never been so filled with peace and contentment. She was going to have a family. A family who loved her. A family she loved.
A realization struck her hard. Nick had taken a risk by declaring his love for her when he wasn’t assured of her returning the feelings. And even though he’d proposed and she’d accepted—even though she loved him from the depths of her heart—she had never told him.
He was upstairs in his room now, waiting for her. Ryanne turned and rummaged through her nightstand drawer, found the flashlight and switched off the lamp.
Nick stood at the window in the room where he’d spent so many lonely, sleepless nights, watching the house next door, the house where the girl he’d loved all his life had grown up. Only a few months ago, he would never have believed that all his most sacred and secret dreams would come to pass over this sultry summer, and that he’d be changing his entire life and marrying Ryanne.
He wouldn’t even have dared to imagine he would be able to sleep the oblivious sleep of a guilt-free man. Perhaps tonight he would...
The light in Ryanne’s bedroom window was extinguished and he watched, ready to follow her movements as she returned to him.
Instead, a light flashed from her window. Another. A series of flashes. Puzzled, Nick leaned against the window fr
ame and concentrated. Dots and dashes, that’s what they were. He wracked his memory for the Morse code alphabet he and Ryanne had learned one childhood summer many years ago.
On the second go-round, he interpreted the simple message: I love you.
Nick’s heart stopped for a full minute, then chugged to an energetic pace. He moved to the wall switch, flipped the light on and off in the same coded message, then left it off and ran down the stairs and through the house.
She met him at the edge of the moonlit garden, the cadence of locusts and the scent of tomatoes the backdrop for her breathlessly spoken declaration. She pressed herself into his embrace and hugged him with all her being. “I love you, Nick Sinclair. I love you.”
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460312957
Copyright © 2013 by Cheryl Ludwigs
Originally published as NICK ALL NIGHT
Copyright © 2002 by Cheryl Ludwigs
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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