Traces

by Betty Bolte

  “You never really cared about me, admit it.” Paulette speared her with a glare. “It’s always been about you. You and what you want. Your perfect life. You’ve convinced yourself that you’re better than me. But you’re not and never will be.”

  Shock reverberated in Meredith’s chest. The tension between her and Paulette stretched as taut as the horsehair on a violin bow. Blowing her breath through pursed lips while counting to five, Meredith blinked. Poor Paulette. Always insecure and clinging yet at the same time fighting to be independent and respected. Definitely she was a conundrum, to say the least.

  “That’s not true, and you know it. I’ve done all I can to help you over the years,” Meredith bit out. “You don’t help yourself, but wait for me to come to your rescue.”

  Paulette leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “You’ve always been jealous of me and what I’ve accomplished despite the hardships in my life. The real world is very different than the one you live in.”

  “Like you’d know. You never try to understand anyone else’s situation; you assume you know everything. But you don’t and you never will. God, why did I even bother trying?” Meredith ripped her napkin from her lap and threw it on the table. She pushed back her chair and stood, yanking her purse strap onto her shoulder. “I knew this was a mistake. I’ll take care of the tab on my way out. Again.”

  “Bitch! Don’t walk away from me!” Paulette jumped to her feet, knocking her chair against the wall behind her.

  “Right.” Meredith waved a hand in farewell. “You’re like this restaurant. You never change.”

  She hurried to the reception area to settle up, hoping Paulette would let the argument drop. The confrontation left her shaken. Their simmering hatred apparently went far deeper into the past than she’d realized. Of course, she hadn’t contemplated their relationship in eons, preferring to ignore it and hope time would ease the tension. Paying cash at the register, she thanked the teen with the ponytail, slipped her receipt into her purse, and turned to flee the animosity and memories the diner held, only to run into the broad, strong chest of Max Chandler.

  “Whoa, Meredith, what’s your rush?”

  Embarrassment warmed Meredith’s cheeks as she blinked at him. “Sorry. Excuse me.” She stepped past him, but he caught her by the arm before she could escape.

  “I saw your car outside and came in here looking for you.” He squeezed her elbow gently, keeping her beside him.

  Meredith searched for a way to extricate herself from this uncomfortable situation as Paulette closed in on them. Not only did she feel her sister’s eyes stabbing her from behind, but the zinging electricity from Max’s touch heightened her desire to flee. She shook her arm free of his grasp, but not before the bitch noticed the physical contact between them.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Paulette offered a hand to Max without waiting for Meredith’s response. “I’m Paulette O’Connell, Meredith’s sister. And you are?”

  “Max Chandler, Meredith’s estate attorney.”

  He was? Meredith glanced up at him and frowned. She didn’t recall hiring him as her attorney. She flicked a glimpse at her sister, noting her narrowed eyes and raised chin. She obviously suspected more to their relationship than existed. Or could exist, for that matter. Maybe another time, perhaps another lifetime, she’d find Max both intriguing and handsome. Right now, though, was not the time for her to become involved with any man.

  “I see. Then you’re mine as well.” Paulette’s features morphed into her alligator smile. “As Meredith’s sister, it is only fair we share in Grandma O’Connell’s inheritance. Don’t you agree?”

  Max’s smile lost its warmth. “That is up to Meredith, as Mrs. O’Connell only included her in the will. Your name wasn’t mentioned as an heir.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Paulette’s smile disappeared as fast as it had arrived. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow, Meredith. Hope you enjoyed your dinner.”

  Four bites of salad didn’t constitute a meal. Meredith shook off the sarcastic comment. Paulette strode to the outside door and pushed through it. The tension between her and Paulette diminished with each click of Paulette’s heels. Meredith released the breath she’d been holding. She still reeled from the emotional onslaught caused by their conversation, coupled with the unwanted physical reaction created by Max’s touch. She didn’t need this, all this angst and emotional turmoil. Stealing every tiny shred of balance and peace she’d dragged into her life. The room slowly spun, tiny black and gray splotches dancing before her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Max grasped her upper arms. “I think you’re about to faint. Why don’t we sit down and talk?”

  “I’m fine.” She had never fainted in her life, and she was not about to start. What was it with him touching her all the time? She tried to free herself from his grip, but he held firm. She attempted to glare at him. “Did you need something? You said you were looking for me.”

  “I hoped to catch up with you. Please, let me buy you a cold drink. I can’t in good conscience let you drive in this condition.”

  He practically dragged her back to the bar area situated near the old jail cell. Perfect. Another bout of memories to combat. She stood facing away from the cell. The mirror reflected the assortment of bottles filled with a variety of colorful liquors arrayed along the back wall. Wineglasses and martini glasses hung in racks above the bar, within easy reach for the bartender. The traditional jackalope—the humorous stuffed animal made by combining a jack rabbit and an antelope—peered at her from its place on the wall. Tonight’s barkeep, a young man with spiky hair tipped with orange highlights, wiped a red cloth over the polished surface of the bar.

  “Sam, how’s your dad doing?” Max motioned to Meredith to take one bar stool as he settled onto one beside hers.

  Sam tossed the rag onto the bar and stepped closer. Meredith judged him to be about twenty-five and wondered what chain of events had led him to working in a small town in such a small bar. The counter she leaned her elbows on only measured approximately twelve feet long. Enough space to serve, at most, four customers. Not like her favorite watering hole in Baltimore that could seat thirty. Of course, he fixed drinks for those at the dining tables as well. Who would have thought this small town with its sixty-plus churches contained even that many people who imbibed?

  “He’s recovering, thanks to your quick action,” Sam said, laying cocktail napkins in front of each of them. He nodded at Meredith and then indicated Max with his head. “He stopped my dad from drowning last week after he fell asleep at the wheel and landed his car in a drainage ditch.”

  “Wow,” Meredith said, one hand going to her throat. She pictured a car in dark gray water seeping into the cabin, and shivered. “He’s mighty lucky indeed.”

  “Max was in the right place at the right time and pulled him out,” Sam said. “He saved my dad.”

  “Glad to have been there to help him. He’s a good man,” Max said. “I’ll have my usual. Meredith?”

  His usual? “Gin and tonic, please.” Meredith angled her head to study the man beside her.

  He surprised her on many levels, not least of which being the electrical current that seemed to shoot into her when he moved within a certain proximity. Like now. Her skin itched from the static and grew warm from his body heat. His perusal of her face, intimately inspecting each feature from her eyes down to her nose and on to her mouth, made her squirm. Had she plucked her brows this morning? Yes, yes, she had. She ran her tongue over her teeth inside her closed mouth, checking for stray bits of lettuce. His gaze zeroed in on her lips. Okay, so maybe that was a bad idea. She stopped her tongue’s mission.

  “You come here often.” Not a question, but a statement of fact. Meredith’s pulse skipped a beat when he met her gaze. She really needed to compose herself. This reaction wouldn’t serve her purposes at all. At least he no longer stared at her mouth.

  Max leaned on the bar, his legs angled toward hers,
a slow grin illuminating his face. “Sam’s my cousin, so I come here to support his livelihood. Besides, he makes a killer moontini.”

  Sam placed their drinks in front of them. He set a small bowl of salted peanuts between the crystal glasses. Meredith grabbed a handful and plopped a few nuts into her mouth. If she was going to have a drink, she needed sustenance.

  “I’ll bite. What’s a moontini?” She watched the motion of his chin, then his lips, as he chuckled in response. She forced herself to look away, focusing on his eyes instead.

  “A moonshine martini.” Max raised his long-stemmed glass, rotating it slowly so the oversized green olive rolled lazily around the inside. He took a sip and she stared, fascinated, as his Adam’s apple rose and fell in his throat. “Ah. Very smooth.”

  She swallowed a mouthful of her cocktail to gather her wayward thoughts and to tamp down on the unwarranted reaction she experienced as a result of his nearness. “You wanted to talk to me, and I’m sure it wasn’t about your superhero status or your drinking habits.” She chewed on her handful of nuts while she waited for his response.

  “Right. You like to cut to the chase.” He lifted his drink, filled his mouth, and swallowed slowly before continuing. “I wanted to know what your plans are for the plantation. You left me feeling uneasy when we parted.”

  “I’m still considering my next move.” Meredith tasted a hint of lime in her drink, swallowing to buy time and cool the sizzle in her veins. “Why unease?”

  “I get the feeling you’re not planning to live there.” He shifted, pointing his knees at the bar and resting his elbows on the counter. His long fingers gripped the crystal stem of his glass. He swished the moonshine, light refracting through the glass and clear fluid. “Your grandmother would be disappointed about that, I’m sure.”

  Meredith glanced at Sam, who obviously could hear every word they said, and wondered how much of this conversation would be public knowledge before she reached Twin Oaks tonight. “I don’t plan to live here. My home is in Baltimore. Not here. Never here.”

  He stared at her, assessing her expression. “Never?”

  “I enjoyed my summers here, but this isn’t home.”

  “But you’re here now. You know this place, and this place knows you.”

  What a miserable thought. She shivered and gripped her glass hard to still the tremble before it traversed her entire body. Small towns housed a lot of nosy people who had to uncover every action of those who lived near them. “I’m here for a short time by design. Besides, the people of this town have no idea who I am and what I’m capable of.”

  “Please, Meredith, reconsider living at the plantation.” He gazed at her for a long, searching moment and then laid a hand on her wrist. A subtle change in his expression warned her of something she couldn’t interpret. Mesmerized, she watched him. Slowly he pulled her hand away from the glass and curled his fingers around hers. “I think you feel the same connection I do. I want to give us a chance to get to know each other. Find out, like you said, who you are and what you’re capable of.”

  She blinked several times, her eyebrows rising so high she could feel her bangs brush across them. This man she barely knew wanted more than she could fathom ever giving to another man. She might be about to move on with her life, but that didn’t mean she was ready to link up with another man. Willy had been the only man she would give her entire heart and soul, and no man could replace him and the love they’d shared. No way would she ever accept the offer before her. She yanked her hand free.

  “If that’s all you wanted to say, Mr. Chandler, then thank you for the drink but no thank you on the rest of it. Good night.” She grabbed her purse off the bar and pivoted in her seat in preparation to slip off the stool.

  “Wait!” Max grasped one arm. He peered at her, his expression cool. “I’m sorry.”

  He did not just touch her again. His flirtations came and went like an ocean wave. She glared at his hand until he slowly released her. Anger simmered through her, canceling out any chance of Max affecting her composure with his chemistry. She’d always excelled in chemistry, but she had no use for his. “You don’t seriously want to get to know me, do you? So what is it you really want?”

  * * * *

  The Coldwater Bed and Breakfast hunkered among drooping willow trees, as inviting as a mausoleum. Paulette trudged up the concrete sidewalk and then the steep steps to the wraparound porch. She paused, noting the splashy flowered cushions on the brown wicker chairs arranged around matching wicker tables. The sight contrasted with the cold atmosphere she sensed blanketing the house. Almost as though overcompensating with vibrant colors would warm the environment. The owner, one Angel Baker, had welcomed her with no warmth in her shriveled face. Paulette shivered in the cooling evening air. Pushing open the door, she strode into the house. Lamps shed pools of light from side tables in the foyer. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals dangling, unlit. She’d never stayed in such a foreboding place. Another shiver rocked her shoulders.

  The sound of sensible shoes smacking the carpeted hardwood floors announced Angel’s approach. Paulette clutched her purse, readying an excuse for hurrying up to her designated room without engaging in idle chit-chat. After her horrible discussion with Meredith, she dreaded talking about nothing with the proprietor of the B&B.

  “My dear, did you have a good dinner with your sister?” Angel bustled into the foyer, wiping her hands on her ruffled bibbed apron.

  “The food was good.” Paulette sidled toward the staircase to her right. “I think I’ll call it a night.” She yawned for good measure.

  “I turned down the bed for you.” The woman nodded as though praising herself. “Scoot on up and get some sleep. Breakfast will be at eight.”

  Paulette paused with her hand on the newel post. “What are you serving for breakfast?”

  Angel winked. “My specialty. You have a nice night, and I’ll surprise you in the morning.”

  “Night.” Obviously she wouldn’t get an answer tonight.

  She made her way up to her room and dropped her purse on the dresser. Her suitcase stood beside the luggage rack. The canopied bed dominated the room. An overstuffed chair nestled into the corner by the window. A round skirted table held a glowing porcelain lamp, providing a spot of warmth in an otherwise cold room. Her hope that Meredith would welcome her to stay at Twin Oaks had disappeared with the start of the old arguments. She’d spent the majority of her cash to have a place to stay the night. A place that shoved back at her, pushing her out the door. The house didn’t want her to remain, but tonight she had no other choice. She wished she’d thought to have the bill sent to Meredith like she’d thrown at her sister; then she wouldn’t have felt coerced to stay. Meredith had plenty of money.

  She opened her suitcase and pulled out a short nightgown, the kind Johnny preferred she wear. Why did she keep trying to please the man who had walked away from their relationship? When she told him about the baby, he’d said he didn’t want to be tied down by a family. He wasn’t ready to be a father. But he’d already fathered a child, whether he felt ready or not. She thought she’d loved him up until that moment. She tossed the gown back into the suitcase and yanked out a pair of short shorts and a soft tank top. Much better.

  Leaving the lamp on, she drew the quilt up to her chin. Meredith would be settling in to sleep in that huge, lovely house. While she shivered in this awful place. She needed a plan for her and her baby. A home and a future.

  Tomorrow she’d take the first step.

  * * * *

  Meredith slammed the door behind her, the loud bang echoing the fusion of disappointment and anger seething inside. Griz sauntered into the kitchen, tail flagged and twitching in rhythm with the thump of her paws across the floor. Meredith skirted the cat so she could drop her purse and keys onto the ceramic-tiled table nestled in the bay window, which overlooked the back of the property. If the sun were still in the sky, she’d be able to see the family cemetery. The ki
tchen light reflected back at her from the dark window, a yellow blot on the darkness.

  “Damn him.” Her words floated through the house, fading into silence. “I didn’t need a frigging guilt trip from Grandma after she’s been buried.”

  Definitely not when delivered by the oh-so-suave and handsome Max Chandler. Right after receiving the riot act from Paulette. What a helluva evening. So worthwhile driving into town to be told how to live by two people—make that three, one of whom was dead—who had no clue what she needed.

  She retrieved a wineglass from the cabinet and sniffed it before holding it up to the light. Good enough. Removing a bottle from the fridge, she poured chardonnay into the vessel. She took a long sip, and the coolness calmed her nerves as it flowed down her throat. Grizabella bumped her head into Meredith’s leg, demanding attention. Reaching down automatically, Meredith found the cat’s favorite itchy spot. A splash of wine on the floor beside the calico reminded Meredith of the glass she held, and she straightened back up.

  “Did you miss me, Griz?” Meredith set the glass down on the table and then scooped the cat into her arms. Machine-gun purring answered her question.

  She scritched along the cat’s stomach and around her neck. When her arms grew tired, she slipped the cat back on the floor before quickly wiping the spill with a paper towel. Then she picked up her glass once more and headed out of the kitchen.

  Griz rediscovered her food bowl while Meredith drifted through the house, listening to the sounds of the old building creak with each step. The dark of night lurked beyond the windows. The scents of cleaning products mingled with the hint of mildew. She paced down the hallway and into the foyer, the floorboards beneath her shoes flexing under her. The effort required to return the place to a loving home did not compare with the swift work to take it apart.

  Most of all she heard Max’s voice laying on the guilt from her Grandma O’Connell. The love of the land as an Irish heritage. Honoring her family through maintaining her inheritance and keeping the land and home. She took another long swallow of wine and walked into the sewing room.