by Judith Yates
“You still haven’t told me why you’re here staring at the tree.”
Amy shrugged again. “Just thinking.”
“Just thinking,’ repeated Joan. “You have been in quite the mood today. Really, your visit to that dreary little town has had an abysmal effect on your disposition.”
Irked by her mother’s snappish tone, Amy scooted around on her bottom to face her. “Something on your mind, Mother?”
She looked taken aback. “If you must know, it’s that—I—I just can’t understand it.”
“Can’t understand what?”
“The whole thing! Staying down there so long with that woman—giving her all that money—deciding to keep that tie with Gregory Riordan. Honestly, Amy, I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back.”
Joan averted her gaze and nervously smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her champagne-colored knit skirt. But Amy had caught the flicker of fear in her mother’s eyes. All of a sudden, she realized what that fear meant. Joan was afraid of losing her—to the inn, to “that woman” and, ultimately, to Greg.
Now she knew why her mother had skipped Angier’s open house. It was an opportunity to be alone with her daughter, her first opportunity to find out what had happened in Tremont. Amy could see that Joan wanted to know. She was just too proud to say so. Feeling an unaccustomed sympathy for her mother, Amy reached for her hand and explained why it was important to her to keep Greg’s dream alive.
“I don’t know why you care.” Joan removed her hand from Amy’s. “He let you down—his very own daughter. He let us both down.”
Her mother’s bitterness was nothing new, but the tinge of sadness was. For Amy, it was like a crack in an impenetrable wall of restraint—all she had to do was wedge her way in. Paul had advised her to find out the reason behind her mother’s unceasing acrimony toward her father. Perhaps now was her chance to learn the truth.
Joan brushed off her initial attempt, insisting it was pointless to wallow in the past. But Amy pressed gently until her mother told her things she’d never heard before.
“To this day I’ve never met a man as handsome as Greg,” Joan revealed, staring past the tree into the invisible movie screen of her memory. “You look so much like him, you know.”
“You never told me.” Still sitting on the floor, Amy gazed up at her mother. Joan’s expression had softened.
“I thought it a million times while you were growing up, but the words just burned in my throat. There were such hard feelings between him and me after the divorce. Later, when he disappeared on you, I was furious,” her mother admitted. “It was one thing to disappoint me. But his own daughter?”
“How did he disappoint you, Mother?”
Joan leaned back in the wing chair. “I married Greg over my parents’ objections. He had no family, no money, no profession. But I was enthralled by him, and he’d vowed to give me the best life possible. And I believed him. Yet when my father offered him a management position at his bank, Greg refused. After that, my parents never let me forget I married beneath myself.”
Amy remembered her late grandparents well. Although they had indulged her materially, they had not been the least bit demonstrative. They’d been outspoken yet distant, and more than capable of making her parents’ lives difficult.
“Why wouldn’t Greg take the job?”
Joan gave a haughry laugh. “Greg Kiordan marched to a different drummer. No starched-shirt life of routine for him. Which is why I fell in love with him, I suppose. He wasn’t like the young men I’d grown up with here in Washington.”
“The two of you were happy for a while. Right?”
“In the beginning it was all very romantic. We moved out to the country, where Greg found all sorts of jobs. Unfortunately they usually didn’t last very long.” She sighed and clutched the chair’s arms. “Living from hand to mouth all the time grew unbearable—especially after you were born. I stood it for as long as I could, because you adored him and so did I. When my father offered him yet another job and a house here in town, I begged Greg to accept. If he really loved me, he had to take it.”
Amy had never heard her mother’s voice tremble so. “But he still refused?”
Joan nodded. “Even though he knew our marriage was on the line. I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have backed him into a corner, but I was young and very scared. So I packed you up and moved back home. Deep down, I had hoped my leaving would shake him up enough to do right by us. But Greg was too stubborn and proud for that.”
Amy’s heart went out to Joan. Before now, she hadn’t known how much her mother had loved Greg, or the depth of her pain and disappointment. Before now, Amy doubted she could have understood the devastation of being let down by the man you loved heart and soul. Until now—until Paul—she had never loved that deeply.
She clasped her mother’s hands between hers, wishing she had known her mother’s side of the story a long time ago. Maybe she and Joan could have been closer. “I’m sorry he hurt you, Mother.”
Joan looked down at her, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thomas means the world to me—you know that. But I had pinned my hopes and dreams on Greg. He was the love of my life.” A solitary tear drifted down her powdered cheek. “Perhaps that’s why I could never forgive him.”
Forgiveness might have relieved Joan of her bitterness, but Amy doubted it would have spared her the lingering pain of losing the man she’d loved. She found it all terribly sad.
Passion and hope, expectations and disappointments, dreams and despair—they all were a part of love. They all made it a dangerous endeavor. True, love brought great joy, but it could rob one’s soul of it, as well. Her mother was a prime example. The years of sadness reflected in Joan’s eyes told Amy all she needed to know about the cost of love’s loss.
Bernadette opened the cottage door before Paul had a chance to knock. “I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve been worrying about you all day.”
“I don’t know why. Every time you or one of the girls called, I said I was fine.”
Bernadette helped him with his jacket. “We hated the thought of you staying away on Christmas Day,” she insisted. “Especially since you didn’t come by last night, either.”
“I told you I needed time alone. I thought you understood.”
He tried to keep his impatience from showing. Bernadette was beside herself with concern for him and distress over Amy’s abrupt departure; she meant well. He just wished she’d accept his need to come to grips with Amy’s leaving in private. Since that seemed unlikely, he’d broken down and come over.
“God will bless you for indulging a worried old lady,” she said, hooking her arm through his. “The others have all gone home. It’s just you and me now.”
Paul supposed he should be grateful for that. As much as he loved Bridget and Maura, he didn’t need an audience to witness his anger and hurt. And he was hurting—more than he ever had before.
Bernadette led him into the study. “Express Delivery left a gift here for you yesterday afternoon. I put it under the tree just as Amy asked me to.”
“What?”
“Several days ago, Amy said she was having a present for you sent here and would I mind putting it under my tree. I’m sure she’s forgotten about it with all the fuss. But there it is.” Bernadette pointed below the tree.
Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. Beneath a huge, fluffy, red satin bow was a spanking new adult-size sled with shiny red handles and runners. Amy had said something about Santa putting a sled beneath the Christmas tree for him. Then she’d gone ahead and arranged it all herself. To surprise him. To make him smile.
He sure as hell wasn’t smiling, and his surprise quickly evaporated into dejection. He’d spent the past two days attempting to erase all reminders of Amy Riordan from his house and heart. Struggling like crazy to blot out the lush delight of making love to her and the sweet warmth of talking with her long into the night, Paul had convinced himself he would indeed survive thi
s blow. But the damn sled had unraveled any hope of that. Now he had to face the truth.
Amy was the best thing to ever happen to him. How in the name of heaven did he think he’d get over her?
Paul stooped down to read the gift tag attached to the bow.
“This sled is big enough for two on purpose! Meet you at the hill. All my love, Amy.”
He stared at the card until the anger that was part and parcel of his despair emerged from deep within him. All her love?
Amy’s love had been a sublime gift. Except it hadn’t lasted very long and was devoid of all trust. For Paul, Amy’s love was like the sled—a painful reminder of what might have been, sad evidence of what was lost. His soul ached with emptiness.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got to find Amy and set things right, Paul.”
“Bernadette, don’t start. Please.” He pushed the sled back beneath the tree and stood up. “If you must know, I’ve tried to call her several times. She didn’t answer her phone at all last night. Today the housekeeper at her mother’s told me ‘Miss Riordan is not available.’ Amy doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Oh, that’s nothing but her father’s stubbornness and pride coming through. I’ll call her. She’ll take my call.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Bernadette’s shoulders sank and she looked as if she was about to cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt her—or you. I was trying to help.”
“Come on, let’s sit down.” Curving an arm behind her back, Paul walked her to the sofa. “What happened isn’t your fault. Okay?”
“But I did try to throw you two together. After I had Bridget find out who that Jeff Martin person was, I arranged certain things,” Bernadette confessed. “Because I didn’t want you to be alone anymore, Paul. And I knew Amy was the girl for you. I knew it the moment I saw her.”
“You knew?” He peered at her with a skeptical eye, knowing she possessed a keen Irish sentimentality. Especially when it came to Greg Riordan.
“All right, I admit I fancied the idea of Greg’s daughter settling down in Tremont with you and someday running the inn on her own. What’s wrong with that?”
Paul squeezed her hand gently. “You can’t push your dreams on people.”
“Push, you say?” Bernadette rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I barely had to tap the two of you together. Face it, Paul, you love Amy and she loves you.”
“She doesn’t even trust me. She thinks I’m after her money.” The mere thought of Amy’s accusation made him burn with resentment. Did she really believe he could be that low?
“She must be confused. Or afraid of her feelings,” insisted Bernadette. “Coming here the way she did couldn’t have been easy. Amy is still carrying some emotional baggage to work out where her father is concerned.”
“I know that. Don’t you think I wanted to help her?”
“Then why, for heaven’s sake, are you here instead of in Washington?”
The challenge in his aunt’s brown eyes provoked his ire. “Because I’m absolutely furious with her. Hell, she accepts calls from her ex-fiance” jerk who was really out to use her—but she refuses me.”
“There, you see? She really is in love with you.”
He glared at his aunt. “And that’s how she shows it?”
“You matter so much to her it hurts. And remember,” she added, “Amy refused Greg, too.”
Paul ran a weary hand through his hair. He’d forgotten what had happened with Greg.
“Please, don’t repeat Greg’s mistake. Don’t give up on Amy the way he did all those years ago.” Bernadette placed a hand on his arm. “Please don’t you give up this time.”
He met her pleading gaze. She didn’t have to say anything else. He knew she was referring to how he’d given up Andrew.
Paul made no promises when he left Bernadette. But as he drove home, her logic was hard to dispute. He, too, believed Amy loved him, a fact that had fed his resentment. Yet it was easier to be indignant than to confront her head-on. It was simpler just to let her go.
Although she’d never come out and said it, Amy faulted him for not fighting for Andrew—for his son. She thought he should have. Paul still believed he’d done the best thing for everyone concerned at the time. He wasn’t about to second-guess his decision four years after the fact. He glanced over at the passenger seat, where he’d left the Christmas card Shelly had sent. Andrew’s smiling face looked up at him. It was too late to change the past. But the future?
Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Paul committed himself to fight this time. To fight for all the passion and light this special woman brought to his life. A fight for Amy.
Now all he needed was a way to get through to her&h;.
Two days after Christmas, the agency was in a deep holiday lull. Amy was glad to have the chance to wade through routine paperwork. Busywork kept her mind off Paul and how he’d stopped calling. But not always. Disappointment often harassed her peace of mind. Still, what did she expect from him? That he’d keep trying to call her indefinitely? She had served her purpose, enabling him to continue his business free of financial concern. Paul probably had decided to get on with life—just as she had. And that was for the best.
So why couldn’t her heart get the message and accept it was over?
With a sigh, Amy sifted through a backlog of nonpriority mail as Julie rattled on about the Jamaican resort she and husband Max were jetting off to on New Year’s Day. Their secretary, Melissa, listened, fascinated. The phones rarely rang.
After regaling them about her vacation, Julie turned to her. “Did you get to look at Shawna’s audition tapes? Is she going to sell a lot of toothpaste or what?”
She nodded. “They were great—Shawna was great. I can’t believe how much she’s progressed in one month. No wonder she got the Mighty Whites bleach job. You’ve done a great job with her, Jules.”
“It took a few days for her to warm up to me. But then we became great pals and she relaxed—a lot.”
It showed in Shawna’s tapes. She was confident, cute, sweet and looked very much at home in front of the camera. Gone was the shy little girl who would stop, middialogue, to peer behind the camera for Amy’s reassurance. She’d known Shawna would pull it all together eventually. Amy was taken aback, however, that it had happened this quickly and without her help.
The telephone jangled to life. “Thomas Windom for you, Amy,” Melissa announced.
A phone call from Thomas in the middle of the workday was unusual. She picked up the line. “Is something wrong, Dad?”
“Wrong? Of course not,” he said, sounding amused. “I was just sitting here thinking how nice it would be to have lunch together. Can you join me?”
“Today?” she asked, startled. Her stepfather was not given to impulse.
“Aren’t you free?”
She assured him she was. “Where shall I meet you?”
“Just come up to my office. Say, in about an hour?”
After hanging up, Amy thought it odd he had suggested meeting at his office instead of a restaurant. There were many excellent places to dine between her office and his. Something had to be up, and she had a good idea of what it was. Thomas wanted to discuss her decision about the Blue Sky.
She had promised him she would. She saw no point in putting it off. Explaining about the inn, Tremont, the Ryans and Greg Riordan would never be easy—emotionally speaking. Maybe Thomas could help her put it all in some sort of perspective. He’d always been good at that. Besides, she had questions for him regarding a certain photo album. Before leaving the office, she grabbed the album from her briefcase and tucked it under her arm.
Amy was surprised to find Thomas outside his office, sitting at the secretary’s desk. “Dad?”
“Hello, dear.” He spotted the bulky album under her arm. “What have you got there?”
She had planned to show it to during lunch, but decided there was no time like the present. She placed
it on the desk. “Go ahead. Take a look.”
Opening to the first page of photographs, Thomas grew very still. He stared at the first set of pictures for a long time before finally lifting his eyes to Amy. “You know where he got these?”
“Bernadette told me.”
“I see.”
“I need you to tell me why.”
“That would mean explaining many, many complicated feelings and issues.” He glanced at his closed office door. “But, basically, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d feel in Riordan’s shoes, how I’d feel if I lost all contact with you.”
Tears stinging her eyes, Amy leaned over to kiss the top of her stepfather’s head. “Thank you for remembering him, Dad,” she whispered. “I’ll always be grateful.”
He patted her hand. “I felt terrible keeping it secret from your mother. You understand why I couldn’t tell her, don’t you?”
“She’d see it as a betrayal.”
“Unfortunately,” Thomas said, closing the album. “In her defense, I think you should know how very distressed she was by Greg’s death. She wept the night Mrs. Ryan called with the news.”
“If you had told me that a week ago, I would have been shocked. Now I believe it.” Amy wiped an errant tear with the back of hand. Taking a deep breath before she really lost her composure, she cracked a wry smile. “Tell me, why are you sitting out here?”
“You’d better sit down. It’s quite a story.”
Baffled, she pulled a chair closer to the desk. “What’s going on?”
“Your mother and I had an unexpected visitor early this morning. Very early. Young man practically dragged us out of bed.”
“Young man?”
“A most impressive young man,” Thomas said, leaning back in the secretary’s swivel chair. “A man who cares very deeply for you.”
“Paul,” she gasped, her body feeling as if it were in free-fall.
“Yes, Paul. He had quite a lot to say to us.”
“I bet he did.”
“In any case, I’ll make a long story short.” Standing up, Thomas pushed the chair neatly beneath his secretary’s desk. “This man is sitting in my office, wanting very much to talk to you.”
