Judith Yates - A Will And A Wedding (Harlequin Treasury 1990's)

by Judith Yates

  “Over why I didn’t identify myself out there?”

  “You could’ve said something.”

  Paul sighed, clasping his hands across his waist. “Could’ve and probably should’ve. Running across you with the Pratts caught me by surprise, I admit. Your visit is something of a momentous occasion around here. You’re all my cousins have been talking about. And Bernadette has been so anxious about meeting you, she insisted I be here tonight.”

  She frowned. Why would Bernadette, with two daughters, need him to rally around? She was the outsider here. If anyone needed moral support, it was she.

  “Then there was the matter of the Pratts,” Paul continued.

  “What have they got to do with it?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve never lived in a small town, have you?”

  “No, I’ve lived in D.C. most of my life.”

  “Well, the Pratts, like most folks around here, are good people. But like most folks in the area, they consider their neighbors’ business their own. And your being the daughter that most people never knew Greg Riordan had, and of course this business with the will&h;”

  Amy remembered Janie Lee’s inquisitiveness. “I get the picture.”

  “I guess I was thinking more of Bernadette’s privacy than anything else. I’m sorry for taking you by surprise in the hall.”

  He seemed sincere. “Forget about it,” she told him, figuring it was pointless to belabor the issue. After all, he was one of the Ryans, and she’d come here to resolve her differences with them, not create new ones.

  Amy leaned back and relaxed. They’d just gotten off on the wrong foot, she concluded, taking another drink of her ice water. Paul, however, had straightened in his chair, his posture much more formal. Her uneasiness returned.

  “Having said that, I want to make one thing clear.” His apologetic tone had disappeared completely; he sounded serious—dead serious.

  “And that is?”

  “Bernadette has been apprehensive about finally meeting you, and she’s extremely anxious about the inn. She’s still mourning Greg, and she’s vulnerable. So I’m not about to allow you or your lawyers to take advantage of her. Understand?”

  She stiffened and resentment bubbled within her. Who the hell was he to talk to her like that? Or to suspect her motives?

  “Listen, Mr. Hanley, I’ve been trying to get this will settled for months. Your aunt is the person dragging her feet. It’s your aunt who demanded I come out here.”

  Paul leaned in closer. “Everybody knows Windom and Hart is one of the premier law firms in Washington, if not the country. Doing what’s best for you—not Bernadette—butters their bread. I’m sure they wouldn’t have allowed you to come if it wasn’t to your advantage.”

  “My attorneys advise me on legal matters. They don’t tell me where I can or cannot go.”

  “Your self-determination is to be admired,” he said, clearly scoffing at her. “But my concern is Bernadette, and I’ll do whatever I can to protect her. This place is her life. So I’m going to say this one more time—I don’t want her hurt.”

  Amy wanted to get up and walk out, out of the dining room and out of the inn. She didn’t need any of this. First she felt like an outsider in her father’s home, and now this overprotective boor, who’d known her all of fifteen minutes, was hell-bent on making her out to be the bad guy. But maybe his aim was to chase her away—or, perhaps, to cow her into complying with whatever Bernadette wanted. Well, he would just have to rethink his strategy.

  “I hear you, Mr. Hanley,” she said, squeezing her fists tight under the table while trying her hardest to keep her voice sounding perfectly calm. “And I, too, have one thing to make clear.”

  A blond brow rose with surprised interest.

  “I want to resolve the matter of the inn fairly, equitably and—with luck—quickly. That, and nothing more.”

  Before Paul could respond, a woman’s voice trilled from across the dining room, “Hi-hi.”

  Amy turned, spotting a tall, radiant redhead coming their way. Her tumbling wavy hair and gold tunic and long crinkly gauze skirt floated around her with each crisp, leather-booted step. Looking for all the world like a soft, burnished cloud, she was absolutely stunning.

  The young woman came right up to their table, dropped a colorful yarn-embroidered handbag at an empty place and then bent over Hanley. She took his face between her hands and planted a big, affectionate kiss on his forehead.

  Amy watched, feeling peevish. If she wasn’t so irked with the guy, she might even be a tad envious of his friend.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to drop by the shop for weeks, you crumb,” the golden vision announced, giving his head a gentle shake. “You said you would.”

  “It’s been crazy at work,” Paul explained as he disengaged himself from her hold.

  Amy noticed a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

  “Besides, some of your customers give me the willies.”

  “Oh, you’re not afraid of anything.” The woman plunked herself in the seat next to Amy’s. “Anyway, my customers are as normal as Mom, apple pie and baseball.”

  Paul laughed. “That’s some stretch, sweetheart.”

  Ignoring this, she turned to Amy. “You’d think I was running a den of the bizarre and the occult instead of a New Age gift shop.” She extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Maura.”

  “The perpetually late Maura,” Bridget offered, approaching from behind, carrying a tray laden with a pitcher of iced tea and a carafe of white wine. “Does Mom know you’re here?”

  “Saw her at the front desk. She’ll be right along.” Maura lifted the platter of cheese and crackers from her sister’s tray and placed it between Amy and herself. “I’m just ravenous,” she said to Amy, “aren’t you?”

  Amy nodded, although her stomach was too numb from nervousness to register any sensation. She did, however, appreciate the younger woman’s breezy friendliness. And due to her perfect timing, Amy had managed the last word in the tangle with Mr. Paul Hanley.

  “Where are George and my precious nephew and niece?” Maura asked Bridget, after slicing off a hunk of ripe cheddar.”Aren’t they coming?”

  “George was on duty at the fire station all last night, so he was just beat. Since I’m filling in tonight, the kids would have been underfoot.” Bridget looked to Amy. “Willy is four going on ten, and Jenny’s in the terribletwo stage now. And I do mean terrible.”

  “Don’t malign my sweet angels,” Maura protested. “They always behave with me.”

  “That’s because you let them have their way all the time,” Bridget replied as she turned back to Amy. “I’ll bring them by tomorrow. They both really want to meet you.”

  Amy smiled and nodded. Yet she felt awkward. Bridget and Maura were acting as if they’d known her for a long time, as if she were just another member of the family.

  Following their mother’s reticent welcome, and after what had just transpired between her and Paul, the Ryan girls’ easy warmth amazed her. Although it was nice, Amy didn’t know what to make of it. She wasn’t sure she even wanted it. Because, no matter what the nature of their relationship with her father, Amy did not consider the Ryans family.

  Paul watched Amy say her good-nights before Maura took her upstairs to her room. He’d been watching her throughout dinner, trying to get some sort of fix on her. But she wasn’t an easy read.

  “Well, what do you think?” Bridget asked after Amy had left with Maura.

  “She looks so much like Greg,” Bernadette said, sounding wistful.

  Bridget nodded in agreement. “She’s really quite attractive. A little shy, though.”

  Paul sat back quietly. He agreed with the “attractive,” very much so. All evening, he’d kept stealing glimpses at those wide, dreamy blue eyes of hers. Then he’d catch himself wondering if her rich, dark hair could possibly be as soft as it looked.

  But shy? Not that woman.

  Amy hadn’t shrunk from the
ir rather testy discussion. She met him head-on, spoke her mind, made her intentions known. Then again, he expected nothing less from a rich, well-educated, urban professional businesswoman. She should know how to handle herself.

  Still, he was surprised to learn she worked with children.

  “Except for telling us about her business, she didn’t say much during dinner,” Bridget continued. “Even after we managed to shut Maura up for a while.”

  “I wonder how she really feels about us,” Bernadette said, gazing absently in the air, apparently not expecting them to answer. “She has no feeling for this place—I can tell. She could sell her share in a blink of an eye and not care to whom.”

  “Mom, she just got here.”

  “She didn’t say a word about Greg. Not a thing.” His aunt lifted her worried eyes to Paul. “You spent a few minutes alone with her. What do you think?”

  “I think you need to stop fretting. Give her a day or two to take this place in.” He gently squeezed her weathered hand.

  Although his discussion with Amy showed she could give as good as she got, Paul suspected she didn’t find this situation easy, either. At times she even looked a bit lost. That’s something he wouldn’t have expected from a woman like her, and that’s what was throwing him off. Amy Riordan was what he’d thought she’d be, and yet she wasn’t.

  “And I think we should call it a night.” Bridget stood up and began gathering their empty coffee cups. “Are we going to have the pleasure of your company anytime soon, Paul? Or are the papers going to gobble you up again?”

  “I’ll come when I can.”

  It was the best he could offer. He was swamped at work. After three years of publishing a string of small-town weekly newspapers and regional shopping advertisers, he was mired in the inherent hassles of a growing company.

  “Don’t bother yourself about it.” Bernadette patted his shoulder. “You’ve been so patient these past few days. I’m sure I’ve driven you crazy with my ranting and raving.”

  “Not a chance.” Curving an arm around her, he pulled her gently against his side. “I’ll be here when you need me.”

  Amy followed Maura up the wide, elegant staircase to the second of the inn’s three floors. She was bone-weary tired, yet glad to be in the company of the one Ryan with whom, so far, she felt at ease. After Paul Hanley’s intensity, and then feeling as if she were on display during the “family” meal, she found Maura’s openness and quirky charm oddly comforting.

  “Mom saved the Ivy Room for you, I see.” Maura unlocked the door at the very end of the second floor hall. “It’s my favorite.”

  Amy stepped inside and understood why. It was a huge room, with a high ceiling, polished wood floor, rich mahogany furnishings, lace curtains and a queen-size canopy bed. The wallpaper—graceful, leafy-green ivy vines on a clean, white background—was clearly the source of the room’s name. The same ivy pattern trimmed the edges of the white bedspread and canopy.

  “It really is lovely,” she said to Maura as she walked around the room. Peeking into the bathroom, she couldn’t help smiling at the big claw-foot tub and pedestal sink.

  “Mom and Greg spent a ton of time renovating each room,” Maura said. “This was one of the last to be completed.”

  “How many guest rooms are there here?” Amy asked. “Fifteen?”

  “Sixteen. All on the second and third floors. For years, the inn was a continual work in progress,” Maura revealed. “Greg would come up with one fantastic idea after another, and Mom would always pull him down to earth, working with him to sort the practical from the impossible. Watching them thrash out the details was such a kick.”

  It felt strange hearing her father talked about in such a familiar way. He’d been a distant, almost abstract figure to her, even in her discussions about him with her mother.

  “Did you all live here in the inn together?” she asked, trying to sound casual. She was curious about what her father’s life here was like, but she didn’t yet feel comfortable enough to come out and ask. Maybe in a day or two, she would.

  Maura shook her head. “We all lived in the innkeeper’s cottage behind the inn. That is, until Bridget got married and then later I moved to Winchester to be near my shop. Mom’s still there, though.”

  Amy sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off her navy pumps. “And did Paul live in the innkeeper’s house, too? Your mother mentioned that she had raised him.”

  “Oh, Paul was long gone by then.” Plopping herself down on the other end of the bed, Maura plumped up the pillow behind her and sat back. “He joined the service right out of high school. Then he attended college out west and lived in San Francisco for years.”

  “But he lives in Tremont now?”

  Amy didn’t know why she was even asking about him. Other than having appointed himself Bernadette’s guardian angel, Paul mattered little to her.

  “Close enough. He has this really neat house in the hills just outside of town. Came back about three or four years ago—after his divorce,” Maura explained. Suddenly she smiled, and a knowing look popped into her brown eyes, a look with all the subtlety of a wink and a poke in the ribs. “Paul is something of a dish, isn’t he?”

  Amy’s first impulse was to deny Maura’s assumption, because—dish or not—Paul Hanley did not put stars in her eyes. Still, mindful of the boomerang effect of protesting too much, she reconsidered.

  “He didn’t say much at dinner tonight,” she said, instead, hoping to derail Maura’s misguided train of thought. Besides, Amy had found his relative silence at the family meal confusing, especially following his earlier outburst with her.

  “Oh, that’s just Paul’s way,” Maura said with an unconcerned wave of her hand. “He’s what you might call a private person. I mean, the guy’s like a brother to me, yet there’s a lot about him I don’t know. For instance, take his divorce—”

  Two sharp rings from the bedside telephone cut her off. Amy reached over to answer it.

  “Hi, it’s Bridget. Would you please tell my little sister that her Jeep is blocking my car? I can’t get out.”

  She relayed the message at once.

  “Nuts, that’s the second time I’ve done that this week.” With a sigh Maura got to her feet, smoothing out her long, red hair with her fingers. “I probably should be heading out, anyway. You look beat.”

  “I am. But I enjoyed talking with you.”

  “Me, too, you. It’s good to finally put a face to your name, and you’re not like what I expected at all.”

  Amy was way too weary to touch Maura’s last remark. “Well, I hope we can talk again.”

  “Absolutely. Come have lunch with me in Winchester some afternoon.” Her brown eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “As one businesswoman to another, I’d love to know what you think of my shop.”

  Amy promised to get in touch and Maura was off, the clicking of her boot heels on the hall’s bare floor echoing after her.

  Immediately upon closing the door, Amy began unbuttoning her suit jacket and tugging at her skirt zipper. She’d been wearing this outfit since seven o’clock this morning. When she’d finally managed to drag herself away from the office, she hadn’t wanted to waste time changing into more comfortable clothes. But she had packed them: jeans, slacks, sweaters, flats. Amy was happy to take a vacation from suits, panty hose, heels and makeup.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she gasped just as she was pulling her white, satin slip over her head. Letting the slip slide back over her breast and hips, she dashed for the phone. Tapping into an outside line, she quickly dialed her partner’s number.

  “Julie, I’m sorry,” she said when her friend had answered halfway through the first ring.

  “Amy, finally!”

  “I know—I’m sorry. I got here late and then I had to meet all the Ryans,” she explained. “Believe it or not, this is the first moment I’ve had to myself since I arrived.”

  “Ooh, how’s it going?”

  Julie Bauman, who was n
ot only her business partner but also her best friend, knew the whole story.

  “Overwhelming—more so than I’d imagined.”

  She told Julie everything, from butting heads with Paul the first time, when she’d stopped to help the Pratts, to Maura curling up on her bed like a chummy college roommate.

  “Hmm, this Paul fellow sounds intriguing. Is he married?”

  Amy groaned. Ever since her marriage three years ago, Julie had become a dauntless matchmaker. She was always on the lookout for perfect mates for her friends.

  “Jules, you’re not listening. I’m Ryan enemy number one as far as he’s concerned. He thinks I’m out to get his aunt.”

  Julie gave a dismissing grunt. “Yeah, but once begets to know you&h;”

  “Give it up, Julie!” Amy lay back on the bed, frustrated. She shouldn’t have even mentioned Paul Hanley. “I’m not in the market for anyone new. Remember?”

  “All right, all right.” Then Julie hesitated a moment before continuing. “While we’re sort of on the topic— there’s another reason I’ve been sitting by the phone waiting for your call.”

  Amy didn’t like the sound of this.

  “Jeff phoned you at the office, not more than fifteen minutes after you left.”

  Jeff Martin. Her ex-fiance. Amy’s thoughts clouded with discomforting memories. She had spoken to him only once in the three months since he’d broken their engagement. “Did you take the call?”

  “Of course I did,” Julie replied. “And he sounded genuinely concerned about how you’re doing. He wants to phone you back.”

  “What on earth for?”

  Again her friend hesitated. “Probably to tell you he’s getting married soon. New Year’s Day is what I’ve heard via the grapevine.”

  “That soon?” Amy said, although she’d been expecting it. Still, she was grateful her friend hadn’t spared her the truth. Julie knew Amy would rather hear the news from her than from anybody else—Jeff included.

  “He really wants to talk to you,” Julie added. “I think he wants to know if you’re okay about it.”

  Amy closed her eyes. She was okay now. The initial feelings of shock, betrayal and disappointment had subsided enough to allow her some perspective. To right the wrong he had done, Jeff had had to be brutally honest about himself and about his feelings. And although she’d been deeply hurt, Amy sensed that Jeff was experiencing a greater pain for having lied to her and to everyone else.