by Laura Moore
But he made neither point because, basically, he didn’t particularly want to talk to Erica about anything, let alone his feelings for Tess. He settled for, “Sorry, Erica. The answer is no. I have no interest in rekindling a relationship with you. End of story.”
He’d spoken the words in a flat tone. To his amazement she smiled and then leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. He froze, wondering if she really had lost her friggin’ mind.
“I’m not going to give up on us, Ward. I’m the woman for you. I’m going to convince you of how right you and I are together. You’ll see,” she said with cheerful confidence.
Ward was still shaking his head after the muted thud of his front door shutting had melted away. Damn it, this woman really did not know when to quit.
TESS AWOKE THE next morning groggy. She had slept poorly, plagued by troubled dreams inspired less by the fatigue from the whirlwind meetings she’d arranged for Carrie and Brian and more by the distressing telephone conversation she’d had with her mother. Like so much in the Casaris’ lives, it centered on Christopher. According to her mother, the past couple of days had been bad for him, to the point where the floor supervisor had warned her that they would have to contact Christopher’s doctor to increase the dosage of his medication. Her mom thought Chris’s outbursts were a result of seeing the dentist, but the supervisor wasn’t convinced. Her mother was praying Chris improved by next week.
The news was depressing. Her brother had been doing relatively well. But the problem with Christopher’s condition was that every period of stability brought false hope. It led them to believe that somehow the doctors had at last hit upon the right dosage and combination of meds and therapy for him. Their elation was soon dashed.
Tess knew that while upping his meds might temporarily lessen Christopher’s violent outbursts, it opened the door for new problems. The antipsychotic drugs weren’t without side effects, and Christopher already suffered from severe gastrointestinal problems.
The quiet despair in her mother’s voice was terrible to hear. So often her mother did her utmost to hide the fears she lived with. Tess knew the reason. Her parents didn’t want her life to be marked by the all-consuming worry that darkened theirs. Keeping her at arm’s length from their troubles was their way of showing their love and their regret that she could never claim their attention.
She could never blame them for their chosen method of dealing with a thirty-four-year-old tragedy. But the strain in her mother’s voice made her feel terrible for being at Silver Creek, a beautiful place and far from the unending worries her parents faced. The guilt was impossible to suppress, even though her mother had assured her repeatedly how happy she and Tess’s dad were that she was doing well at the guest ranch and that the job as events planner was so fulfilling.
In the wake of their conversation, she couldn’t help but think that setting up an account for Christopher with the Bradfords’ money had, in the end, achieved little. Yes, it had eased the financial burden for her parents, but the emotional weight that came with caring for him—a weight equally taxing—hadn’t been lifted. She’d witnessed the same with David’s parents when for weeks on end he’d lain unresponsive until not even the machines attached to him could keep him breathing.
The sole bright spot in the conversation had been in getting her mother to agree that should Christopher’s condition deteriorate, she’d let Tess know so that she could arrange to come help.
With another family this concession might seem normal, only to be expected; with Tess’s it was huge. But for all their sakes, for Christopher’s, especially, Tess hoped her mother wouldn’t need to make that call.
She’d been walking along the path from her cabin to the main lodge, hardly aware of her surroundings. Ward’s voice broke into her abstracted daze and, blinking, she saw the pale pink of the rhododendron bushes that seemingly overnight had come into bloom.
Ward was dressed in a pair of wheat-colored jeans and a blue-checked shirt. He was freshly shaved. By now Tess knew his schedule well. He’d have been up for hours, helping with the animals, checking on the steer’s cut, Ziggy’s leg, and the newborn calves, foals, and lambs. Today, he’d have awakened even earlier to shower and change in time for this last meeting with Brian and Carrie.
“Hey.” He smiled as his gaze traveled over her face. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Phil said he’d be here at eight thirty so I thought I’d head up to the lodge.” It was just past eight o’clock.
“Everything else okay?” he asked. Something in her voice or expression must have struck him as off.
She put an effort into her smile. She wasn’t used to sharing her worries about Christopher with anyone, except perhaps Anna. Tess remembered the day her dad and mom had moved Christopher into the private facility. She’d gone to stay with the Vecchios. In Anna’s pink bedroom she’d sat on Anna’s bed and hugged a teddy bear and wept.
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t look entirely convinced. “Your family all right?”
Just when she thought she couldn’t fall in love with him any more, she tumbled a little deeper. “Yeah. Mom’s worried about Christopher.”
He wrapped an arm about her shoulders and drew her forward, pressing a kiss against her temple. “You don’t have to be at the meeting, you know. Phil and I can go through the guest list—”
“And miss out on the popovers Roo’s baking this morning? Not likely,” she replied lightly. “Did you check on Ziggy? How is he?”
“Still limping. The area around his ankle is puffy and warm, but at least he didn’t bow a tendon. That’s an injury that can take a lot longer to heal. I’m hoping that with rest and icing, he’ll be able to go back out on the trail in a week or so.”
“And how was dinner?” she asked as they began heading up the path. Ward had lowered his arm, but they walked close enough for her shoulder to brush his upper bicep—and close enough for her to see the muscle in his jaw clench at the mention of dinner. “Did it go all right?”
“Yeah.”
She hazarded a guess. “Erica?”
Bingo. “The woman doesn’t know when to quit.” His tone was exasperated.
“Poor you,” she said without sympathy. “So how many new ways did she find to describe your total wonderfulness?”
“Frankly, I lost track.”
“Wow. I hope you’re not expecting me to compete.”
“No. That’s what I like about you. Your refreshing honesty when it comes to my character.”
“Yes, I see you all too clearly. Warts and all.”
He grinned. “Much better. Damn, I’m starving. I hope Roo made her strawberry butter to go with the popovers.”
“Was the barbecue not good last night?” Jeff and Chris, his sous-chef, had prepared a barbecue with sweet potato fries, roast vegetables, a field salad, and cornbread as sides. The menu was what they’d be serving on Friday night for the wedding guests. Dinner would be buffet style, relaxed so the guests could mingle and dance to the swing band Tess had booked for the evening’s entertainment. For those who didn’t eat meat there would be vegetarian chili. Dessert would feature an array of fruit tarts and ices.
“Brian had thirds of the barbecue, so I’d say it passed his taste test—and he loved the two micro beers Reid chose. But listening to Erica catalog how wonderful I was killed my appetite.”
“The things you suffer.”
He swooped down for a kiss, never breaking his stride. “I’m hoping you’ll ease my pain later today.”
“I have the afternoon off.”
“Exactly,” he replied, with a smile in his voice that she couldn’t help but return.
“It’ll be fun to have someone help me do the laundry.”
He gave an exaggerated wince. “Not quite what I had in mind. But perhaps I’ll be able to interest you in some other activities afterward. I’ve been told I’m wonderfully persuasive.”
“Wonderfully cocky, too,” she said, adopting a prim
tone that would have made the nuns at her school nod approvingly.
“That I am. And let’s just leave my wonderfulness at those two qualities, okay?”
She laughed. “If you insist.” Never mind that she, too, could list a whole bunch of other ways in which Ward was wonderful; a man as confident as he was didn’t need a recitation. But it irked to find herself once again in complete agreement with Erica.
EVEN THOUGH CHECKOUT time wasn’t till noon, there were a number of guests already in the dining room, presumably those with long drives ahead of them or early flights to catch—or those who wished to squeeze in a trail ride or run before leaving. On Sundays the kitchen offered a buffet breakfast as well as menu items—including popovers. When Ward and she entered, several guests stood along the long table set up at the end of the dining room, helping themselves to yogurt, homemade granola, scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon.
She saw Brian, Carrie, and Erica at a table for six. Brian and Carrie were talking animatedly.
Erica wasn’t. She was staring at the entry to the dining room, obviously on the lookout for Ward. Her expression flickered when she saw him with Tess, but by the time they reached the table—Ward stopped to speak to a number of the guests to say he hoped they’d enjoyed their stay—her expression was serene.
Like Carrie, she was dressed for traveling, though Erica had chosen a navy silk polka-dotted shirt that Tess could tell was expertly tailored, while Carrie wore a more casual light pink cardigan top.
Erica’s hair fell loose past her shoulders in a smooth blond curtain. As Ward and Tess approached, she flicked it back in a practiced move and smiled.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning, everyone,” Ward answered for them while Tess ignored the sensation of being sized up by Erica. Her gaze traveled over her, calculating exactly how much Tess had spent on her multicolored, ribbed sweater dress with its blocks of purple, tan, orange, and gray, which she’d accessorized with the chunky necklace Anna had bought her and her favorite pair of pumps. It consoled her that whatever price Erica arrived at would be much higher than what she, a devout sales shopper, had actually paid.
Luckily she’d had the sense to wear a businesslike outfit even to a Sunday breakfast meeting. But even dressed professionally it was hard to appear as self-possessed as Erica—harder still when she now knew that the other woman had spent most of last night riffing on Ward’s wonderfulness.
In just how many ways had Erica enumerated his bravery, intelligence, humor, and sizzling-hot sexiness? This thought was followed by another: After dinner, had Erica offered to demonstrate her appreciation of him even more concretely? Actions spoke so much louder than words.
She had to stop this, thought Tess. She was becoming small and jealous and she hated that.
They were just about to settle into their seats when Phil arrived. Ward introduced him, and Carrie made sure to thank him for arranging to come to the ranch on his day off.
“No problem,” he said, obviously pleased that Carrie was so considerate. “Silver Creek has the best breakfast in town anyway.”
“Why don’t you sit next to Carrie, Phil, so that you can go over the guest list with her without all the cups and glasses getting in the way?” Ward suggested.
“Okay.” Phil pulled out his chair, and Ward sat down next to Brian.
Tess made to sit in the chair next to him, but Erica stood up from her own. “Tess, you should take my seat. I’ll sit beside Ward.”
“Erica, it’s not necessary for—” Ward began.
“I just thought that Carrie would like to sit next to her so they can talk about the guest list.”
It was annoying how Erica managed to make her self-centered plan sound altruistic, thought Tess, as she sat in Erica’s vacated seat. Rise above it, she told herself. Ward’s ex-fiancée would be gone soon.
Luckily, Liz, who was serving their table, came over to their table bearing two large stainless steel coffeepots. She placed one pot on the table and then circled the table filling their cups from the other.
Inhaling the rich aroma of black coffee, Tess felt some of her previous grogginess dissipate. She took a slow sip. Oh yeah, much better, she thought.
Finished pouring, Liz said brightly, “What can I get everyone?”
“First off, let’s have two baskets of popovers for the table,” Ward said.
“Mmm, yes,” Erica said. “I have yet to taste popovers as good as the ones here at Silver Creek. Can we have that amazing jam and butter, too?”
“Of course. And Roo’s made an incredible honey butter. It’s got a dash of cinnamon and cayenne. I’ll bring that out, too.” Liz scribbled on her pad.
Brian and Carrie decided on the coddled eggs with ham and cheese; Phil wanted the breakfast burrito; Tess went for the feta and spinach omelet; Erica held off on her own order until Ward told Liz he’d have the western omelet and then chose that, too.
Tess wondered whether she’d take her coffee black as Ward did to underscore how well matched they were.
Her petty thoughts were interrupted by Brian, who began clinking his coffee cup with the bowl of his spoon. “May I have your attention, please, before my mouth is too full with the best breakfast in California. I want to thank you, Ward and Tess, and you, too, Phil, for all the time and effort you’ve already put in to planning our wedding. Tess, the ideas you’ve given us have been so terrific, I find I’m actually looking forward to the ceremony. Almost as much as I am to the honeymoon. Phil, thanks for emptying this place out so that our friends and family can take it over. Ward, thanks for giving us a basement rate on this shindig so that Carrie and I don’t feel like we’ve completely drained Carrie’s mom and stepdad’s retirement fund. Thanks, too, for being my best friend all these years.” Grinning, he raised his cup. “Finally, here’s to hoping you’ll be in my shoes in the near future. With a little spiffing up, you’ll make a decent-looking groom. Don’t you think so, Tess?” Grinning, he gave her a knowing wink.
As remarks went, Brian’s veered into the red zone of the gaffe meter. No sooner had the words left his mouth than he seemed to recall his future sister-in-law’s presence and the uncomfortable fact that if she hadn’t opted out of the engagement, she and Ward would have already tied the marital knot and the four of them would be well on their way to being one happy family. His freckled face took on the hue of a tomato.
Tess’s gaze flew to Ward’s. He wasn’t a loyal friend for nothing. His expression was amused, revealing no embarrassment or pain.
But Brian wasn’t let off the hook. Erica’s light laugh filled the air. “Funny you should mention the idea of Ward having a go at marriage, Brian. Ward and I were talking about just that subject last night. I told him I’m planning to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’ve seen the error of my ways. Perhaps we’ll be having another wedding here soon.”
Here was the answer to her unspoken fear: Erica had done a lot more than praise Ward. She’d gone further, paying him the highest compliment by telling him she wanted to marry him. She was willing to say the words to join them forever. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.
Tess’s throat tightened as panic and remembered hurt roiled inside her. What could she do? What could she say to match Erica’s declaration when her heart still harbored the pain of her last marriage? She knew how quickly a marriage could sour. If she were to fail at one again, her heart might never mend.
Yes, she’d fallen in love with Ward, but did that mean she was ready to consider marriage? Could she brave the risk?
Around the table, everyone had gone silent. Tess couldn’t bear to look over at Ward. What if once again he showed nothing but his professional poker face? She might scream.
Then, just as the silence threatened to become terribly awkward, Phil cleared his throat. “I’d love to look at the guest list so I have a better sense of the VIPs and the MIPs and make sure everyone’s properly placed.”
Tess could have kissed him.
>
Carrie sank back against her chair in patent relief. “Oh, of course! I’ve got it here, Phil.” She leaned over to grab her bag and placed it on the table. “But what are MIPs?” she continued as she opened the bag and delved inside, searching. “I’ve heard of MPs but not MIPs.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that. It’s my term for middling important people. Sometimes they cause more headaches than the VIPs.”
“Oh.” Carrie’s tone was distracted. She’d begun pulling stuff out from the depths of her bulky shoulder bag. First came a large calculator that could probably compute math problems Tess had never heard of. Next, a textbook that Carrie must actually be reading, because why else would someone carry around an inch-and-a-half-thick tome entitled Active Galactic Nuclei? After that followed a composition notebook, a laptop, and a bulging wallet stuffed with receipts. As item after item piled up on the table, Carrie looked increasingly panicked. “I was sure I had the list with me—”
“Could it be in your computer?” Tess asked.
Carrie shook her head. “Oh no. That’s my work laptop. My other one is back in Boston.” She looked up, distress etched on her face. “I’m so sorry. I must have forgotten the guest list back home.”
Tess said, “It’s okay, we can—”
“Not to worry, Carrie,” Erica cut in. “I’ve got the guest list right here.” She produced a stapled sheath of papers from her own handbag with a smile. “Christine called when you left from Boston and asked me to bring along a copy. Just in case you left it on your desk under a pile of books.”
“Guess Mom knows me pretty well. Though, in my defense, I’ve been working on this problem, trying to figure out a model for the covariance matrix of the real-space—”
“Of course you were,” Erica interrupted with practiced ease, which Tess thought was a shame. It would be neat to know what a covariance matrix was and what “real” as opposed to “fake” space was. Then again, there was an awfully good chance she wouldn’t understand a word of Carrie’s explanation.
