“Sounds good to me.”
“You’ll need to get me a guest list as soon as possible. About fifteen or twenty people.”
“No problem. I’ll have it in your hands tomorrow morning.”
“Great.” She closed the book and turned to face him. He was gazing at her with a strange expression. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “No, not at all. Everything’s fine now.”
She called Lori as soon as he left.
“But the fourteenth is less than a month away!” Lori wailed. “And we don’t even have a menu planned yet!”
“We’ve done it before, in less time,” Chelsea reminded her.
“Not for Muriel Winter!”
“It was either that or the whole deal is off. I figured it was worth a shot.”
Lori sighed. “I guess you’re right. But you know how those little cocktail parties are. Everyone’s got their eye on everybody else. Including us.”
“I’ll remember the strawberries this time, don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.”
She was relieved to hear Lori laugh. “So when do we start planning?”
“Tomorrow, I guess. Right after the Tegram’s graduation party.”
The conversation shifted to the details of the next day’s affair, and it wasn’t until long after Chelsea had hung up that she realized she hadn’t even mentioned her engagement.
Chelsea was in the shop early the next morning, assembling the three-tiered graduation cake for the Tegram’s party, when she heard the shop door chime open. She wiped her hands on her apron and went out to the office, where she found Jeff Blaine leaning across the display counter, waving a long white envelope.
“The guest list,” he announced, handing it to her. “I really appreciate your taking this on with so little notice.”
“It’s no problem.” She took the envelope, opened it and glanced at the list of names. “Would you like to choose the invitations while you’re here?”
He shrugged. “I’ll leave them to your judgment. I would like to check over the menu, though, when you have it ready.”
“Of course.”
“Price is no object.”
She nodded. That went without saying, considering where the party was being held.
“And I don’t want you to hesitate to call if you need anything.” He leaned farther over the counter, bringing his face close to hers. “Anything at all.”
“I’ll do that.” She could smell his cologne. A spicy musk, very seductive.
He straightened, splayed his hands on the counter. “Have you had any aftereffects from your little adventure at the beach?”
“No, I’ve been fine.”
“Good. You’re lucky. I still think I should have taken you to a hospital.”
“I’ve been around the water all my life. A few minutes in the ocean wasn’t going to hurt me.”
His expression turned serious. “You hit your head. And it was more than a few minutes. You were in serious danger.”
“I realize that,” she said stiffly. She hated being lectured. Especially by someone who had spent his whole life wrapped in the cocoon of wealth and privilege. “And I appreciate your help.”
“I’m not asking for gratitude. I just want to be sure you didn’t suffer any head trauma.”
“I told you, I’m fine.” She snapped the envelope down into the pocket of her apron. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have work to do.”
He nodded. “ ‘Work brings its own relief.’ ”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He grinned. “It’s a quote. Eugene Fitch Ware. It just popped into my head for some reason.” He tapped the top of the counter lightly. “Look, I’ll get out of here. Let me know when you have the menu ready for the surprise party.”
“I will. I should have that finished by Monday at the latest.”
“Good.” He smiled, a full, open smile that showed his dimple. Her response took her by surprise: an immediate, acute throb of desire, crashing like a storm wave against the ridges of her spine.
Chapter Eight
The Tegram’s Graduation party went like clockwork. The guests raved about the lavish flower arrangements, the graduation cake, and the colorful array of finger foods.
“We’re back in business,” Lori sang, peering through a window as the last of the guests left the stately Tegram home. It was after midnight, and the cloud cover was so thick there were no visible stars. The weatherman had predicted that the rain would hold off for another twenty-four hours, but Chelsea doubted it.
“I hope so.” Chelsea took a disheartened look around the cluttered kitchen. They still had clean-up to do before leaving, which meant she wouldn’t be home before two. “Let’s get going, Lori. I don’t want to be up all night. I have to take Mom to Sunday dinner tomorrow.” She sighed and started stacking baking sheets and plates.
“You want me to do it? Paul and I wouldn’t mind having her come to our place again.” Lori seemed surprisingly energetic, considering her pregnancy and the late hour.
“No, it’s my turn. Besides, I’ve got some news she’ll want to hear.”
“You mean the Winter party?” Lori turned from the sink, where she was rinsing plates for the dishwasher. “I already told her, Chels. I’m sorry if I stole your thunder.”
“No, this is something else.” She carried the stack of trays to the counter beside the sink. “Stuart and I are getting married.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, we just decided yesterday.”
Lori let the dish she was holding clatter into the sink. “You’re making a huge mistake.”
“I knew you’d say that!” Chelsea opened the dishwasher, grabbed a handful of silverware from the counter and shoved it into its basket.
“Well, good grief, Chels, what am I supposed to say? You know how I feel. There’s no spark between you; you’ve told me that yourself. Just a whole lot of convenience.”
“There’s a lot more than convenience between Stuart and me! Anyway, convenience isn’t a crime!”
“No, but it’s not a good basis for marriage.”
“Just because you’ve been married for three years doesn’t make you an expert on the subject. Your marriage to Paul hasn’t exactly been problem-free.”
“That’s true, but at least we’re in love with each other. That’s helped us over more than a few bad spots.”
“Who says I’m not in love with Stuart?”
“You did, Chels. A long time ago. And I haven’t seen any evidence to contradict it.”
“Then you haven’t been paying attention. Feelings can change, you know.” Chelsea measured soap into the dishwasher and closed the heavy metal door. “Besides, you’re not the only woman in the world who wants to have children, sis. Stuart’s a wonderful guy, and he wants to marry me. It’s not as if there’s a line waiting at my door. There aren’t too many eligible bachelors out there.”
“Maybe you’re the one who’s not paying attention,” Lori said softly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I saw the way Jeff Blaine looked at you the other day. And he’s about as eligible as they come.”
“Jeff Blaine? You must be kidding! I wouldn’t go near a son of Muriel Winter’s after what happened to Holly!”
“Jeff isn’t Brandon.”
“He’s still Muriel Winter’s son.”
Lori sighed. “Okay, bury your head in the sand if you want to. Go ahead and marry Stuart. I just think you’re making a mistake.”
“You’ve made that very clear.”
They finished the clean-up in rapid silence, driven by their tension. It was a cleansing process, one they had resorted to often over the years after their sisterly spats. Chelsea felt her anger leak away gradually, and by the time the van was loaded, it was gone.
A few raindrops spattered the windshield as she pulled into Lori’s driveway. Chelsea gave her sister a warm good-bye
hug and waited until Lori was safely inside before leaving. The unwelcome drizzle irritated her. It was likely to develop into a downpour, and she hated driving in the rain. Especially this late at night. Lori’s house was almost half an hour from the shop. She always worried that the van would break down and leave her stranded, miles from home.
She decided to take a shortcut. It was a route she’d driven a few times in daylight, but the inky nighttime blackness transformed the narrow, tree-lined road into a winding, black tunnel. She drove carefully, alert for the deer and raccoons that might be venturing across the road. The windshield wipers slid back and forth in a constant, drowsy rhythm. Fatigue drifted through her in waves; her eyelids grew heavy. She fought to stay awake, but the rain-blurred glow of headlights under the trees was trance-inducing. She slapped her face with her hand a couple of times, to force herself back to vigilance.
It wasn’t until she recognized the same dilapidated barn looming up on her right, which she’d passed only a short time before, that she realized she was lost. She scolded herself for not paying attention and tried to get her bearings. The landmarks she could make out in the darkness looked familiar, but she didn’t know if that was because she’d just passed them or because she was on the right road. She kept going, fully awake now, berating herself for her stupidity. Even so, she didn’t see the deer until it was almost too late.
He leaped out of the woods on her right, just a few hundred feet in front of the van. Instead of continuing across the road, he turned his magnificent antlered head toward her headlights and froze.
She stamped on the brakes and swerved hard to the left. The resulting screech seemed to release the buck from his spell, and he darted away into the trees. But it was too late for Chelsea. The van skidded, swayed, and plunged into the deep ditch on the far side of the road. It tilted far to the right and for one horrifying moment seemed about to roll over. Then it rocked back and settled into the ditch, its engine still grinding loudly, as if to protest its misfortune.
She turned off the ignition and sat for a moment in darkness, listening to the rain beat on the metal roof, waiting for her heart to stop slamming against her ribs. It had been a narrow escape. She was lucky the van wasn’t totaled, lucky to be alive.
She climbed out and tried to assess the damage by the light of the headlights. Rain poured down, drenching her hair and clothes, saturating her pink blouse so that it stuck to her skin. From what she could see, the van appeared intact. But it was definitely stuck. The sides of the ditch were steep and stubbled with rocks and brambles. She’d have to have the van towed out.
She glanced at her watch. One forty-five. She hadn’t passed a house in some time, it was pouring rain, and there didn’t seem to be any traffic at all on the road. Her best bet was probably to sleep in the van and walk out in the morning. It might be miles before she came to a dwelling, but at least she’d be able to see where she was heading. And if there was morning traffic on the road, which seemed likely, she could hail someone for help.
She was opening the van door to climb back inside when she heard the sound of an engine in the distance. Her heart gave a little leap of hope. She scrambled up the slippery ditch to the roadside, straining her ears to listen. It was definitely a car, and it seemed to be headed her way. After a few minutes she could even see the ripple of headlights through the trees.
Finally, the car rounded the curve at the top of the hill. Chelsea shouted and jumped into the road, waving her arms. She was instantly blinded by the headlights. Just like the buck, she thought, and made herself step back onto the shoulder. The car slowed and pulled to a stop a few feet away.
It was only then, squinting and shading her eyes to peer through the driving rain, that it occurred to her what a hazardous position she was in. She sent up a small prayer that the driver was a sane, nonviolent person, not some psychotic killer on the loose. She braced herself, ready to sprint down the slope and lock herself into the van at the first hint of danger.
The car door opened and a man emerged. She couldn’t make out his features because of the rain and the glaring headlights, but his height and the broad slant of his shoulders were vaguely familiar.
“Is that you, Chelsea?”
“Jeff!” She felt her knees wobble as she let the air go out of her in a long breath. “Thank God you came by!” She started toward him and then stopped as the passenger door opened and Beth Harmon got out.
“Are you okay?” Beth called.
Chelsea nodded dumbly as she watched Jeff and Beth come toward her. As they stepped in front of the car, her glance went quickly to Beth’s black low-cut dress, then flicked to Jeff’s immaculately tailored suit.
“Are you okay?” Beth repeated.
“My . . . my van’s down there,” she finally managed to gasp. She motioned toward the ditch. “I tried to avoid a deer and went over.”
Jeff was already scrambling down the ditch slope before she could warn him about the brambles. Beth put a hand on her arm. “Come on and get in the car before you get pneumonia.”
Chelsea shook her head numbly, strangely unable to move. Then Jeff was beside her, pushing something into her hands, which she recognized dully as her purse. “Looks like you’re going to have to leave the van here for the night.” He rubbed his hands to brush them clean. “I turned off your lights and locked it up for you. I’ll give you a ride to your place.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Beth said. “It’s pouring. We’re not going to leave you stranded here. Come on, get in the car.”
Chelsea climbed reluctantly into the backseat. Beth handed her a black crocheted shawl. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. Wrap it around you until we get to your place.” Chelsea obeyed, clumsily pulling the shawl around her shoulders. Jeff flicked on the inside lights and turned in the driver’s seat to study Chelsea.
“You sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“No hospital, right?” He grinned.
She nodded.
He pulled the car back onto the road, did a three-point turn, and headed back the way he’d come. Chelsea sat hunched in a corner of the seat, tasting her humiliation as a bitter coating on the back of her tongue. She was soaking the backseat of Jeff’s car. Her legs and arms were scratched with brambles; all her makeup had washed off. She knew she looked terrible, especially compared to the beautifully dressed Beth.
They had only traveled a few miles before they reached a familiar Mobil station on an otherwise deserted corner. Jeff turned right, and within minutes he was pulling up in front of Strawberry Lace.
“Thanks a million,” Chelsea said. “I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble.” She scrambled out of the car and ran for the stairway door.
She was startled to find Jeff right behind her as she hurried up the stairs. He didn’t say anything, but when she unlocked the door, he reached past her to push it open and flick on the overhead light.
“I really don’t need an escort,” she said. “But thanks.” She was too tired and too shaken to be able to construct a fancy speech of appreciation.
He grinned. “Seems like you’re a regular damsel in distress, Chelsea Adams.”
“If you’re implying I’m the helpless type—”
“Not at all. But maybe just a wee bit accident prone.”
Her cheeks flared. “I had no idea you’d be coming along that particular road at two in the morning . . .” She saw his dimple appear, and felt a responsive flutter. It dawned on her that she was just making his case for him. “I’m glad you did, though,” she admitted.
He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “Get some sleep.”
And then he was gone, jogging down the stairs and swinging through the door at the bottom. Going back to Beth, Chelsea thought with a little throb of jealousy, then caught herself.
She didn’t care who Jeff Blaine spent his time with. Her only involvement with him was a business relat
ionship.
She went into the apartment and locked the door behind her. Moments later she was tucked down under the covers of her bed, sleeping the sweet, oblivious sleep of exhaustion.
Chelsea slept until ten Sunday morning, and when she woke, it took her a few minutes to remember the events of the night before. The memory of Jeff Blaine smiling at her was the strongest impression that remained; everything else seemed dark and nightmarish. She called the towing service before she showered, and by the time she’d finished her morning coffee, the van was back in her driveway and the bill paid.
She took the Toyota up I-95 to Yarmouth. She usually looked forward to the bimonthly Sunday luncheons with her mother, but today the prospect of explaining her engagement, as well as last night’s accident, seemed like an ordeal. Her mother would ask a million questions, especially when it came to marriage. Her mother liked Stuart, but found him dull. Not that her mother’s choice in men had been a wonderful model. She was a born romantic. After Chelsea’s father died, she’d fallen for a handsome real estate broker from Portland and married him following a whirlwind courtship, only to discover, fifteen months later, that he had another wife in New Hampshire. She’d been only temporarily devastated, immediately falling in love again and marrying a man who was a dedicated gambler. He drained her entire savings account in two years. After her second divorce, Chelsea had questioned her about the wisdom of remarriage, and her mother had admitted that it probably wasn’t a great idea.
“Three strikes and you’re out,” she’d said morosely, and then brightened to tell Chelsea about a new man she’d met at the senior center. “He’s so exciting! It was love at first sight! Would you believe he’s been to the Australian outback?”
Chelsea had shaken her head inwardly, and given up the fight. Her mother had to live her own life. Her mother would never understand her relationship with Stuart. Probably because she’d never had such a good, solid relationship with a man.
Strawberry Lace Page 8
