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

by Judith Yates

  “You did?”

  “Of course. You were his one and only child and he should have tried harder. But Greg could be so darn stubborn. And proud!” Bernadette shook her head at the thought. “He was convinced your mother had brought you up believing you were better than anybody elsemost of all him.”

  “That’s not so.”

  “I know. I saw it for myself the day the ceiling collapsed in room 16. In my prayers that night, I told Greg how wrong he’d been.”

  “Looks like we were both wrong.”

  “You are your father’s daughter, after all.” Bernadette reached for Amy’s hand. “I know you were reluctant to come to Tremont. But you did. And now you’ve seen the inn and the life your father had here. That’s what matters.”

  “Still, I wish things had been different.”

  Giving Amy’s hand a pat, Bernadette rose from the couch. “You and I have decisions to make, and I’ve been putting you off for days.”

  “We do have a lot to talk about.” Amy leaned back against the sofa cushions, emotionally drained.

  “You don’t look like you’re up to it now, though. Shall we wait another day or two?”

  Amy agreed that would be best. The conflicting information and feelings she’d experienced this morning were like so much scrambled egg in her head. She had to sort it all out. With Greg’s photo album tucked under her arm, Amy left the cottage and started out on a brisk walk through town.

  Although she appreciated Bernadette’s reassurances, Amy still felt terrible. She walked and walked, trying to resolve today’s revelations in her mind. Intellectually she could understand Greg’s actions over the years, and her own, as well. Yet her heart remained in confusion. How could she begin to reconcile the resentment and guilt, the anger and sadness? She wiped a warm tear from her cheek.

  At that moment, Tremont felt like a lonely cage. She wasn’t ready to go back to the inn, but taking off in her car was no remedy, either. She’d still be alone with painful thoughts. As she slowly walked back up the hill toward the inn, the photo album close against her chest, Amy thought of Paul. He was the one person she could talk to about all this.

  Her heart lightened as she rambled up the rest of the hill. She no longer felt the cold. Remembering it was Sunday, Amy realized his office would be closed and she’d have to track him down at home. But she was sure someone at the inn could give her directions.

  Amy was so intent on getting to Paul that she didn’t see the person standing in the gazebo when she passed by.

  “Amy, wait, I’ve been looking for you.”

  The deep, rich timber of the caller’s voice felt like balm on her aching heart. Yet her emotions were in such a jumble, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As she turned around, Paul was hurrying down the gazebo steps to meet her.

  His smile of delight vanished into concern. “What happened? You look like you’ve just lost your best friend.”

  “No, I—I—” Pausing to still the trembling in her throat, Amy peered up into Paul’s sky blue eyes. They encouraged her to go on. She took a deep breath and held up the photo album. “Actually, I’ve found my father.”

  “This is Greg’s?” He took the book from her. After a quick perusal of its pages, Paul let out a long, low whistle. “This must have been a shock,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulder.

  His tender gesture was almost enough to undo her. She steeled herself against the emotions rumbling within her, and squinted hard to keep errant tears at bay. The situation was ridiculous. Never having cried in front of a man before coming to Tremont, Amy couldn’t believe she’d already wept once in front of Paul. If it happened again, he’d be convinced she was a blithering crybaby.

  Although she managed to hold back the tears, Amy couldn’t keep her shoulders from shaking or her lips from trembling. Paul held her close to his chest.

  “Let’s go inside where it’s warm,” he said gently. “Then you can tell me what happened.”

  “Not there.” She pulled back. “I can’t deal with the inn right now.”

  “Then you don’t have to.” Paul looked down at her, the concern on his face deepening. Clutching her hand, he started down the hill. “Come on. I know where we can

  go.”

  Moving at a brisk clip, they reached the town center quickly. Paul led her past the general store and the school before turning onto a side street near the tiny post office. Finally, he stopped at a two-story brick building that was of a vintage more recent than the quaint structures lining the main thoroughfare. It was probably only forty or fifty years old, Amy thought wryly as she read the sign hanging out front.

  “Valley News Group.” She turned to Paul, who was searching his pockets for keys. “Your company?”

  He nodded. “And it’s closed up tight today. So you’ll have all the privacy you need.”

  Paul apologized for the drafty temperature as they climbed the stairs to his second floor offices. “Shutting down completely on the weekends is our newest costsaving measure.”

  When they entered his icy cubicle of an office, Paul switched on the space heater and put on a pot of coffee. Making sure she was warm enough and comfortable in his leather desk chair, he pulled up another chair for himself when the coffee was ready. The hot mug he gave her warmed her hands; his amiable banter and kind gaze helped ease her anguish. She no longer felt on the verge of tears.

  Opening Greg’s album on his desk, Paul looked through it more carefully this time, while Amy described. what had been happening in a few of the shots. When he reached the last picture, of Amy playfully leaning on the Sold sign in front of her new home, he shook his head with amazement.

  “How in the heck did Greg get his hands on these?”

  Once she started explaining about her stepfather’s secret endeavor, the test of the story soon came tumbling out.

  “I’m just so confused about how I feel,” Amy admitted, gripping the coffee mug between her palms. “On the one hand, I’m sad about what my father and I missed, and I’m moved by this unbelievable photo album. But I’m angry, too. What kind of man would desert his child in the first place? And if he loved me, why didn’t he try harder to get me back?”

  Her words seemed to trouble Paul. “Amy, that doesn’t have anything to do with how much he loved you,” he protested. “You can’t know what kind of turmoil he was going through.”

  “Do you?”

  Paul’s shoulders stiffened, but he did not reply.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered quickly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. But if my father was in turmoil, he still somehow managed to meet Bernadette, buy the inn and raise her daughters.

  “You know, I’m ashamed to admit it,” she continued, feeling somewhat sheepish, “but I’m jealous of Bridget and Maura and the life they shared with him.”

  “I’d say that was a fair reaction—nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Amy. You’ve had a rough time,” Paul insisted. “And besides, Bernadette shouldn’t have dumped all this on you without any warning.”

  It was the first time she’d heard him criticize his aunt. “She didn’t know, Paul. She thought she was helping,” Amy assured him. “I’m glad I know about the photo album, and about the hand my stepfather had in it.”

  “You never had any inkling about that?”

  “None.” Amy put her empty coffee mug on the desk. “After my mother, Thomas Windom is the last person I would have expected to be involved. That’s the irony of the whole thing.”

  “I take it there was no love lost between your mother’s husbands.”

  “One would’ve thought so,” she said with a shrug. “You see, Thomas tried to legally adopt me after he married my mother.”

  “Tried to?”

  “My father put up a huge fight—even went into debt to block it. At the time, he told me I would always be his little girl and nobody else’s. Of course, that was a few years before he took off.”

  “Windom didn’t try again afte
r Greg disappeared?”

  Paul’s question startled her because she’d never given it much thought. “Thomas was disappointed the first time around, I know. And then, he and my mother tried to have children of their own, but couldn’t. To tell the truth, I’m not sure why he didn’t give it another try.”

  “Maybe he was afraid Greg would show up and cause more trouble,” Paul offered as he reached for the coffeepot. “Want some more?”

  She held out her mug to him for a refill. “Now that I think about it, Thomas never said a negative word about Greg. In fact, he used to bend over backward to help me understand him.”

  A thoughtful look came over Paul’s face. “He seems like a great guy.” “Thomas has always been good to me. But that doesn’t make up for the way I lost my real father.”

  “No. Of course it doesn’t,” he agreed. “But tell me, where does your mother fit in all of this?”

  She couldn’t help the rueful chuckle. “My mother never said a positive word about my father. And she still doesn’t.”

  “She sounds bitter.”

  “Extremely.”

  Paul pushed aside their coffee mugs and took her two hands in his. “Mind if I make a suggestion?”

  His reassuring touch made her skin tingle. His discerning gaze was so compelling, Amy nodded without so much as a second thought. Paul had been there for her without question, listening without judging as she confided to him the trouble in her heart. She placed a high value on that kind of support.

  He squeezed her hands warmly. “Talk to your mother, Amy. Get her to tell you what really happened with Greg all those years ago.”

  “Paul, I’ve tried. Many times.”

  “Try again,” he urged. “She may give you some clues to what this sadness and bitterness in your family are about.”

  “I thought I’d find those answers at the Blue Sky.”

  “Instead, you just found more questions.”

  “I’m sure some wise soul along the line told me there are no easy answers,” she mused. “My visit here proves it.”

  “Are you sorry you came?”

  “Is that a leading question?”

  “You bet,” he replied, a sly, teasing gleam lighting his eyes.

  Amy tried to think of a snappy retort, but the way his thumb caressed her hand was distracting. After the morning’s intensity, she was happy to focus on his touch, his smile and how good he made her feel.

  “I’m glad you happened by this morning. I don’t know what I would have done—”

  “I didn’t just happen by, Amy. I told you last night I’d be back.” His eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his chair. “Didn’t you believe me?”

  “Yes, I believed you.”

  Amy meant it. Last night, his kisses had made her want to believe everything about him. After he’d gone home, however, a tiny bedeviling part of her had questioned his sincerity, his motives. It was foolish, of course, an automatic reflex undeserving of attention. She had no reason to doubt Paul.

  “I want to spend the day with you, Amy. We can do anything you want.”

  What she wanted was to be in his arms again, on the receiving end of his dynamite kisses. But she suggested a tour through the valley, instead.

  “And dinner afterward,” he added, getting their coats. “Just not at the inn.”

  Amy brightened. “I loved Fred’s Bar-B-Que Bash.”

  Helping with her jacket, Paul laughed. “I had something more atmospheric in mind for tonight. But I’ll take you back to Fred’s soon. Promise.”

  Atmospheric. All sorts of pleasant possibilities prickled Amy’s imagination as they headed back to the inn. Although the weather was cold and gray, she sensed her day with Paul would continue to glow with warmth. Having him all to herself—away from Tremont, Bernadette, the inn—was an enticing prospect.

  She couldn’t wait to get going.

  When they reached the crest of the hill, they began discussing whose vehicle to take. “My car will be much more comfortable than your pickup on a long drive like this,” Amy asserted.

  “I don’t know. Some of the back roads around here are rough.” Paul glanced up at the murky sky. “Besides, it’s going to rain—we’ll probably hit some icy stretches. The truck will handle it better.”

  Amy followed him into the inn’s parking lot. “My car has top-of-the-line, all-weather radial tires, and antilock brakes, too.”

  At that moment, a person ran out of the inn. A compact figure dashed toward them, and Amy immediately recognized the auburn head popping up from the folds of an overstuffed purple, down parka. It was Maura calling Amy’s name.

  “You’re finally back,” Maura gasped, nearly out of breath, looking annoyed. “Mom didn’t know you were with Paul. And I’ve been waiting forever.”

  Amy was puzzled. “Were we supposed to get together?”

  “No! I’ve just come from Bridget’s. Everybody’s got the flu out there.”

  “Bridget, too?”

  Maura shook her head. “She’s fine. Well, as fine as anybody can be under the circumstances. But she could use a hand.”

  “She needs my help?” Amy asked.

  “That’s why I came. She needs you to do something for her.” Maura cast a nervous glance at Paul before turning back to Amy. “I’ll take you there right now.”

  Chapter Nine

  Paul stepped in between Amy and his cousin. “Are the kids okay?”

  “Don’t worry. They seem to have a mild case. Cabin fever is their biggest problem right now. George came home from work last night sick as a dog, though,” Maura said, moving around him to put her arm through Amy’s. “Come on, Amy. Bridget wants to see you.”

  Ignoring Paul, Maura started tugging her toward the Jeep. Amy wasn’t sure what to do. She had her heart set on going with Paul, although she was concerned about Bridget, too. Of course, if she thought Bridget truly needed help she’d go there in a flash. Yet something about Maura’s story didn’t ring true.

  “ Paul and I were just about—’’

  “You can call him later, I promise.”

  “Well, if you’re sure Bridget really wants me&h;”

  Paul was right on their heels. “Maura, what the heck are you up to?”

  “Gee,” Maura muttered, stopping in her tracks. “I’m just trying to do a favor for my poor sister—your cousin—who’s been alone for days with two sick kids. And now her husband’s sick. Don’t you think she deserves some company?”

  “If that’s what this is all about, why don’t I come along, too?”

  “I give up!” Maura threw up her hands. “Fine, Paul, suit yourself. But I have room for only one other person in the Jeep. You’ll have to follow in your truck.”

  Before Amy had a chance to say anything, Maura yanked her away.

  “I’ll meet you at Bridget’s,” Paul called after her.

  As she climbed into the Jeep, Amy didn’t know whether to yell or laugh. This stunt of Maura’s was totally absurd.

  “You’re nuts, absolutely nuts,” she said as Maura started up the engine. “Bridget’s not really in such dire straits, is she?”

  “Hey, I did my part,” Maura replied, peering over her shoulder as she backed out of the parking space. “This is her baby now. But she’s sure gonna be surprised to see Paul.”

  She glared at Maura. “You’re not going to tell me what this is about, are you?”

  “You’ll know soon enough. Trust me.”

  “Maura!”

  “Look, I’m sorry if I spoiled whatever plans you had. But Bridget had me backed into a corner. She told me it was either you or Dirk Campbell. And I’d rather eat raw meat than go to him.”

  Because Maura was a vegetarian, Amy knew she meant business, so she dropped the subject. Still, she remained mystified.

  Within minutes, they were pulling into the long, unpaved driveway leading to Bridget’s house. Glancing through the rear window, Amy saw Paul following close behind in the red pickup.

  “Her
e we are at the sick house,” Maura announced, stopping at the front door. “Hope you’ve had flu shots.”

  “Get them every year—I work with kids.”

  Amy waited for Paul to catch up and went inside with him. Bridget’s eyes widened when she saw Paul, but otherwise she acted pleased to see them both. She looked a little tired, but not nearly as decimated as Maura had initially described. Amy was not surprised.

  Her husband, George, was upstairs in bed, too ill from this flu to lift his head, according to Bridget. Little Willy, padding around in pajamas, appeared to be recovering nicely, and he soon was all over Paul, begging him to set up his toy-train set. Jenny, still a little wan and glassy eyed, was on the couch cuddled beneath several layers of handmade afghans, watching cartoons on TV.

  The house had been recently built and was contemporary in style. The first floor was practically one big room, with the kitchen and dining area opening onto an expansive family room. Toy cars and trucks, dolls and stuffed animals were scattered about, a sewing machine sat open on the kitchen table and a rustic-looking wood stove was spewing supplemental heat.

  Amy couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a house this lived in. The homes of friends in her circle tended toward the expensively designed and coordinated abodes pictured in glossy coffee-table magazines. Still, she liked the comfortable family feel of Bridget’s attractive home.

  When Bridget insisted they eat the sandwiches she’d prepared, Amy and Paul exchanged glances. The dining-area table—all set and ready for guests—was one more confirmation that Maura had misrepresented Bridget’s “crisis” situation. Yet Maura behaved as if nothing were askew, eating most of the sizable salad and chatting gayly during the entire luncheon.

  They’d both been snookered by the Ryan girls. Thinking glumly of what might have been with Paul this afternoon, Amy wanted to strangle both Ryan sisters. One look at Paul’s face told her he was feeling similarly in clined.

  “So, Bridge, Maura says you’re having a rough go of it,” Paul said, helping to clear the table after lunch.

  Her face turned pink. “I was going a little stir-crazy, especially when the kids were at their worst. That’s why I’m glad to have some company.”