“Whose Marian?”
“The librarian.”
“Are you serious?”
Shennedy turned back. “Deadly. Wait til’ you meet her. Although you might get lucky and she won’t be there.” She tossed a pair of soft blue jeans, a Kelly green body sweater and coordinating scarf at Lindy, who still sat on the bed. “It’s the library board meeting for the Harvest Hurrah. We meet weekly until mid-October when the three-day celebration starts. I’m on the board and I’ve offered to help out. But,” she stopped and leaned against the antique wooden dresser, “it seems that my body is still a little out of sorts. Just female stuff.”
Lindy cocked her head. “Wait, what’s going on? You said you’ve been a little tired and run down, but it was because of all the designing you’re doing. Are you not telling me something?”
Shennedy paused then smiled. “Me, not tell you something? It’s called running the Big Barn Boutique, and working with Keira to turn the Kenworth’s second floor into a New York haute couture scene, and helping with the Harvest Hurrah, and trying to get— ”
“a limping along antique shop up to speed.”
“Need I say more?” She smiled affectionately at Lindy then headed toward the bedroom door. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment this morning just to be sure. It’s likely low iron. Anyway, I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“So what do I do at the meeting?”
“You, the queen of the sales world and endless meetings, ask me? Take notes, volunteer, do what I would do. Sound good?” With that Shennedy walked out of the bedroom and a few minutes later closed the front door.
Silence.
Lindy paused for a moment, looking around the small but cozy room, decorated with various antique pieces of furniture: a Nantucket iron bed, a Rockwell 9 drawer chest, and a melon-colored 18th century French footstool. An eclectic array of pieces that nonetheless all fit in Shennedy’s way, and the rest of the remodeled 1950s home looked much the same. It had become Lindy’s pseudo-home for almost ten days now, not that she was counting. And yes, it was high time she got back into life. So why did going back to bed and burrowing down in the covers sound like a better idea?
A buzzing sound came from her phone. Glancing at the screen she saw his name.
Damon.
Lindy fell back on the bed with a sigh. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Constant texts since she’d left L.A. two months ago. Always the same song, second verse: I love you, I miss you, I’m sorry, I’ve made changes and I’ve taken care of the issues.
It buzzed again and Lindy swiped it. Should she answer this time?
She stood, seeing herself in the mirror. Blonde hair mussed in a slept-in ponytail, soft lavender pajamas and unusually pale skin.
Maybe it was time to get out. And get over this small, inconvenient, thoroughly devastating chasm in her life. She shook her head at the image in the mirror. “Enough pity party for you, sister.”
It was time.
Besides, after top level sales seminars drawing thousands in some of the most glamorous cities of the U.S., how hard could a small-town library meeting be?
***
“Ladies and gentlemen let’s stay focused here.” Britta Klein brought their attention to the next agenda item. A savvy gal with a slight German accent, she was efficient but kind. As far as meetings went, however, it had been thirty minutes and already Lindy had been distracted several times. At least Marian hadn’t attended, so there was that.
Twelve men and women volunteers surrounded the oak conference table in the library loft. The room carried a hint of the former church building, including a cathedral ceiling and thick wood beams.
“Next on the agenda we have the final schedule for Armand.” A delighted gasp. “In fact, he arrives tomorrow. Lindy, be sure to tell Shennedy the flight times,” she passed a white paper toward her. “All the information is there.”
Lindy came to, with a practiced sales smile. “I’m sorry, who is Armand?”
“Oh, that’s right, we need to catch you up. Armand D. Beaumont,” she said with not a little pride in her voice.
“He’s her cousin, you know,” said a lady in her mid-60s with gray primped hair.
Lindy narrowed her eyes. “Armand D. Beaumont, the New York Times bestselling writer? The one who writes the 1940s detective guy who likes to read French poetry?”
Britta brightened. “That’s the one. Do you know him?”
Lindy realized she had sat up. Casually sitting back, she shook her head. “Not really, no.”
Her stomach churned at the memory of his name, and with it, that day all came back. The multi-speaker event at the Seattle Sea Dome, his last minute cancellation— without any explanation— and the high-stress fallout she’d had to deal with. Just her. Women in the audience in tears, over an author, for heaven’s sake. An author who apparently thought he was God’s gift to women, and to the literary world.
Britta smiled gratefully. “Yes, he’s a good man, and I would say quite a catch— ”
“But he does have one of those sparkly girlfriends, The Examiner says so.” Another perm-haired woman interjected.
Chayton Leichty, a Native American man who coached Lacrosse, cleared his throat. “Just a quick reminder, Britta, that I need to get back to the high school in a few minutes.”
She gave a knowing nod, then turned to the elderly lady. “I don’t know on the girlfriend, but I can definitely find out.” Several female heads bobbed in agreement.
They turned their attention back to details and Lindy glanced at the paper. Several items caught her eye: pick up at the airport, entertain on these days, book signing and reading…Wait a second. Shennedy would be acting as his personal assistant? “Excuse me, how long is he staying?”
“About two weeks. He’s visiting from France before his U.S. book tour which officially begins right after the Hurrah. So unofficially we are his first stop.” A small titter came from a few of the ladies. “He may have to visit New York City but he’ll return.”
Two weeks. Well, thank goodness Shennedy had this one.
Driving home, Lindy rolled her neck to relieve some tension. Why in the world was she tense? She’d been sleeping for the past week, the most decadent and bizarre thing she’d done in ages. But, after the past two years with Damon and Global One-Source Seminars, it made sense. It had been months of sold-out events in major cities. And then, the relationship aspect. Ultimately, that had been the most draining part of all.
And yet, it hadn’t all been awful. Most of it had actually been exciting, incredible even. Until she found out the backend of things and how it really worked. How he worked.
Lindy shook her head. No use dwelling on that now. Shennedy had been inspired in her invitation to spend a few months at Echo Ridge. And hadn’t given her grief on her sloth behavior. Probably because Shen knew that once Lindy woke up, watch out.
Or would that be the case again? Lindy double-checked the street name where Shennedy lived, a vintage grouping of remodeled homes in the same era. Something had shifted within her, something undefinable as yet. Maybe the pilot light was simply out. Or, maybe she’d learned a lesson that would change her life. Who knew. But one thing was sure— the next few weeks would determine which path she set her foot on for good.
Time to wake up and smell the change.
Lindy’s phone rang. Not him, please. She released a breath when she saw her cousin’s smiling face instead. “Oh, hey, Shen. How was the doctor visit?”
“First things first. How was the meeting? You didn’t jump in and re-organize their mission statement, right?”
“Come on, you know me. Just a simple power point and a 3-level Event Growth Model, what’s wrong with that?” Shennedy chuckled but it sounded tired. “Don’t worry, I minded my Ps and Qs and even brought home the assignment list, which looks doable. However, it was news to me that you had the distinguished— and may I say, senior-coveted— honor to be the personal assistant of the Armand D. Beaumont. Should be
charming. But back to you, how did it go? Did the doctor give you iron supplements?”
Pause. “Actually, a little more than that.” Sigh. “Lindy girl, I need your help.”
Shennedy rarely used those words.
“It’s my aging female body and a bunch of fibroids, he called them, which makes sense as to why I’m bleeding and low on energy all the time. And it turns out, just for fun, my bladder and uterus are slipping down. That lovely addition means everything on my body is hanging lower. Honestly, mid-forties was in the fine print when we signed the human experience deal.”
“But what does that mean? What can they do?”
“Dr. Kearns ordered me in for surgery, stat. As in tomorrow morning.”
“For what?”
“A hysterectomy.”
“Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me how you were really feeling?” Lindy pulled into the driveway and turned off the car.
“I’m just so used to it, the cramping and the pain, it’s become normal. Except the past week or so it’s worsened to the point that I finally made the appointment. He was not too happy with me, I can tell you that. Said I could have taken care of this months ago.”
“What can I do, what do you need?” Lindy’s mind whirred.
“Glad you asked. You, my favorite cousin, are going to be me for the next few days. Which means personal assistant to Armand D. Beaumont. And on full-time dinner duty, no taking turns. The good news is that he says it’s a lapro something kind of surgery, so I should walk out of the hospital by Saturday, no problem. Give me a few days and I’ll be right as rain.”
Lindy scoured her memory for friends’ mothers who had had a hysterectomy. Yes, new procedures made it quicker. But Shennedy would definitely need more than a few days to recover. Her mind continued in former business mode. “We’ll talk about recovery time later, Shen. For now, I’ll get you set at the hospital tomorrow and anything else you need. No worries.”
“And Armand?”
“I’m on it, don’t think twice about it.”
“You’re sure? Even with how you’re feeling?”
“Piece of cake.” Lindy shook her head in disbelief at the heavens as she spoke. What were the chances? First, that negative Armand experience, and now playing nursemaid to him for a few weeks. But then again, for Shennedy, she’d do absolutely anything. Their friendship went beyond family reunion connection. Even though they lived at opposite ends of the country, Shen had been there for Lindy through her brother’s drug addiction and her parents’ marital struggles as a result of it. Although things had evened out for their family over the past few years, she and Shennedy had continued to stay close through technology.
Shennedy blew out a breath of relief. “I knew inviting you out was the right thing to do. Except maybe the dinner duty part— no more Chinese take-out, seriously. I’ll be home in about half an hour, got a few stops to make before D-day tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. Shen, you’ve got this. I’ve got this. Nothing to worry about, okay?” She hoped her voice carried confidence, for both Shennedy’s surgery and her new predicament. What was a few days with a male diva? She had spent the past two years steeped in that environment and had done more than okay for herself. He’d get the quick VIP tour— a few kind words, a few stops at the local hot spots, then send him back to Britta when he got truly annoying.
In, Entertain, Out. She could do this.
FRIDAY DAWNED AND LINDY surprised herself by arising early to tidy the house. Once finished, she headed to the antique shop situated a few streets away to continue Shennedy’s work of refreshing the loft apartment for the visitor. Apparently, Britta had a smaller, older house which wasn’t exactly the ideal housing arrangement for an international star.
The studio loft turned out to be a charming attic room after all. Painted a pleasant lemonade color with white trim, it mostly needed a dust, vacuum, and fresh sheets. As a final touch, she clipped a few flowers from Shennedy’s fall garden and put them in a skinny vase. The pink cone-like Astible mixed alongside a few stems of Blue Veronica made the place feel homey and comfortable.
Her unexpected energy and drive surprised her. Even Shennedy commented on it, wondering what had gotten into her in 24 hours. And if she had extra energy, to do the bathrooms.
Lindy wondered why as well. Maybe purpose was what she sought, now that her body had fully rested. Or maybe she wanted to repay Shennedy for her intuitively knowing what Lindy needed. Or likely, it was old habits kicking in— do what needs to be done for the event to be successful.
She sighed. How wonderful it would be to know her real motivations again without the business models clouding it.
By late morning all was ready for Armand’s arrival, and she and Shennedy headed to Trinity Hospital. After checking in and settling her in the pre-op room, Lindy chatted a little more before being shooed out to the waiting room. Her private conversation with the doctor revealed what she had thought. Even if all went well, Shennedy would be in recovery for about two weeks.
Lindy sighed inwardly. That meant a full-time gig with Mr. Bestseller himself. Well, it was what it was.
Checking her phone, the Delta site showed Armand’s 1:15 p.m. flight was on time and landing at Albany International in about an hour and a half. The surgery should take about two hours, plus coming out of sedation. If Lindy left now, she could pick him up and settle him in then get back to Shennedy to stay at the hospital that night. Lindy had worked it out with Britta to meet Armand at the loft. She would host him tonight seeing as he was “family,” however distantly connected.
At the airport, she held a hand-written card with just his first name— no need to create a stir. People streamed past her, a hodgepodge of humanity. What would Armand be like now? He could have changed, of course, that experience was over a year ago. At the time, she’d only talked with him briefly, but even then he’d hardly looked at her directly in the face. The only thing slightly appealing about him was that accent, French with a twist of something. And, of course, his beautiful European face, a mix of soft eyes with a strong jawline.
Her phone buzzed and she checked it. Damon.
I know you’re getting my texts. My question, and it’s a fair one, is why won’t you answer them? I’ve been trying to tell you in a hundred different ways I’m sorry and that I’ve made changes. I want to share them with you. But not by text. Can you at least do that for me?
Lindy frowned. He was good, very good. But was he actually sincere this time? He sounded more sincere. But he could simply be better at hitting the right buttons. She fingered the screen. There had been a time when his sincerity was genuine, near the start, before things really took off to the next level. Before the money was pouring in and the suits were still off the rack. He’d always said the money wouldn’t change him. And yet, it had. In more ways than one.
“Bonne après-midi, mademoiselle?”
Lindy looked up. A tall, caramel-blond, very French-looking man in a tan suit and navy blue overcoat stood before her. Followed by a scented rush of woods and high mountains.
She swallowed. “Armand? I mean, Mr. Beaumont?”
“I am he. Please to call me Armand. And you?”
Lindy stared. “Oh, yes, um, pleased to meet you, Armand. I’m Lindy…Marchant.”
“Lindy Marrshan. Enchante.”
He said Marchant the French way, all rolling sounds like a crème brulee on the tongue. Wow. That sounded good.
“Yes, thank you, and to you. We’re right out front. Do you have your luggage?” The sentences came out quicker than she had intended. She had already decided not to bring up “the incident” but instead pretend they hadn’t met. He had likely forgotten. Why bring up the whole sordid ordeal? Clean slate, fresh start. No problem.
He turned his face from her with that familiar stare out at the horizon, that ‘something offensive is in the air’ look. “Yes, I received my luggage. I am ready.”
Same uppity Armand. “Great, let’s go.”
“Britta sends her happiest wishes and her regrets she couldn’t pick you up. I’m sure she texted you.” He nodded. “So you just got in from France, is that right?”
“Oui. Ah, yes.”
That voice, she had forgotten. Warm, rushing, like a full river flowing. And the elongated sound of his words made it as if the syllables leisurely stretched in the sun.
“Are you tired? Or would you like a snack?”
“No, I am not hungry. Merci.”
They drove for a long way in silence. Occasionally, he fingered and turned a gold pinky ring with the initial G.
Lindy played soft jazz on the radio and swished the wipers on the slight rainfall. At last, she tried again. “I hope you brought an umbrella, it rains intermittently during the fall here. But mostly it’s beautiful. The trees are changing. By the Harvest Hurrah it should be a gorgeous fall painting in live color.”
He nodded, staring out the window.
“We’re excited for your reading tomorrow night. I hear it’s a rare thing. The senior ladies are likely lining up as we speak.”
He turned to her suddenly, a mix of anger and worry. And then he recovered. “Oui. I am most humbled by the opportunity.”
Frowning at the strange interchange, Lindy drove down Main Street past the Veteran Memorial, Kenworth’s, and Chip’s Diner, all landmarks even for Lindy being a recent transplant. “Here we are, the metropolis of Echo Ridge. Other people will take you on a tour of the town to the ‘hot spots,’ not that this is a swinging place. They pull in the carpets by 8:30 p.m., no lie. But there are some lovely places here, at least back when I visited as a girl.”
“You are not from here.” He said it more as a statement than a question.
Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2) Page 42
