by Marina Adair
Which was why her heart pinched painfully when he looked up, his face nowhere near right. In fact, he looked confused and angry—at her.
“Do you still see Richard?”
“What? No. Why?”
“Holly said she doesn’t see much of him.”
Holly? What the hell?
“You were talking to Holly about Richard?” Only moments ago his body pressed into her had felt safe, now it made her feel vulnerable. She tried to move, but he didn’t budge.
“No, she was talking to me. About him. And I just want to make sure if he decides to come and visit you two, that Abby is prepared.”
Of course. This was about Abby. Regan placed her hands on his chest and shoved. He didn’t budge, but he begrudgingly rolled off of her and leaned against the headboard.
Regan sat up and pulled the blanket up and around her chest. Just when she thought they had gotten past—well, their past—there it was again. Only this time it was like the past six years were in the bed with them. And the only shot they had to get rid of it once and for all was honesty.
“Holly saw him once. She was just a baby and doesn’t even remember.” Although Regan remembered every second of the visit. Richard had apologized, saying that even though he was working things out with his wife, he wanted to do right by his kid. Regan had wanted to kick his ass for being a liar and a cheat, but she’d thought of her daughter, of how it felt to grow up without a dad, and decided to try and be civil. Richard had agreed to pay child support, Regan snapped a picture of him holding Holly, and then he left.
“She has a picture of that day. Sometimes she pulls it out and looks at it or asks questions about him. Like if she has his nose or if he was a good speller. One time she brought it to school, and her teacher told me she was showing it to all of her friends because they didn’t believe she had a daddy.”
That had happened right before they had moved to St. Helena. Regan had no idea she was being teased, and Holly had never said a word.
“What do you tell her? When she asks about her dad?” Gabe said softly. He didn’t look mad anymore; he looked miserable.
“The truth. That her daddy loves her very much, but just because you love someone doesn’t always mean you’re ready to be a parent.”
“So you don’t see him?”
Now it was Regan’s turn to get mad. She was answering a lot of questions, but none of her answers seemed good enough. “I already said no. Why don’t you just ask what you really want to know, Gabe?”
“Did you love him?”
And all of the anger faded. Was he jealous? Of her and Richard? Or maybe trying to gauge where her heart was at?
She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Gabe, I’m a third-generation single mom. I never knew anything about my dad except that he was a French businessman and he didn’t want me. So when my mom died I had literally no one. Until Richard showed up, mature and handsome with his Italian roots and accent. He charmed me into believing I was special and wanted, and then charmed me right into bed.”
Gabe rested a hand on top of hers, and she melted at the look in his eyes. The look of a guy who wanted to make everyone’s world safe, but with her and their past, wasn’t sure how. “Do you still love him?”
“No. After Richard left I was crushed, but then Holly came along and I was too scared to be anything else. That last time he came to see me I realized that I was more in love with the idea of having a family than I ever was with him.”
“Thank God.” Gabe kissed her long and hard, his fingers fisting in her hair, holding her to him. It was as though with that one statement he had given himself permission to love her. He might not be in love with her, but she could tell in the way his body shook and how fiercely he collected her to him that he was feeling every bit of this intense bond that she was.
When they came up for air, Regan was straddling him, legs locked around his back, and Gabe was holding her as though he would never let go. As though she was his.
He kissed her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, and then buried his face against her neck. “It would have been difficult to go after someone that you loved.”
Everything inside Regan stilled. She didn’t let go of him; didn’t open her eyes; didn’t even breathe. “What do you mean?”
“After that night...” Gabe pulled back, cupping her face between his big, strong hands and staring into her eyes. “After I confronted you and Richard, he went to Abby, told her about the affair and begged for a second chance. Really, he needed time for the last round of funding for their new winery to close.” Oh. My. God. This could not be happening.
Regan knew exactly how much money Richard had raised. And the exact date it had closed. It had gone in and out of Holly’s fund in under thirty minutes. Unable to reach Richard, she’d called an old college buddy who was a lawyer, asking hypothetical questions about liability and possible ramifications. Hypothetically, if the account had been in her daughter’s name with Regan listed as one of the signers, she could be charged with aiding and abetting.
She’d never discovered whose money he’d stolen. Until now.
“We all thought he was serious about changing, about making it work with Abby. Hell, they were the couple of the hour. Six months later funding closed and the next day Richard and twelve million dollars disappeared. The bastard left Abby alone to face the investors and to take the blame, which is why she moved to Santa Barbara. She was too embarrassed to come home. And the cops started sniffing around, convinced that she had conspired with Richard, and made her life a living hell for two years.”
They’d sniffed Regan too—asking about the account, the missing money, treating her like she was guilty. As soon as they realized she was broke and going nowhere fast, they left her alone with the direct instructions to contact them if she heard from Richard. Which she hadn’t. Nor did she think she ever would.
Regan looked up at Gabe, all protective and fierce and incredibly handsome. And he was looking at her, for the first time, like part of that fierce protectiveness was for her.
It would be so easy to tell him the truth. Tell him that she wanted so badly for Holly to have something that proved her daddy loved her, she had naively helped Richard open that account.
She searched his face, looking for some clue that he would believe her. That what they had just shared trumped the past. He had believed her before, but it had taken six years and eleven jobs before he came around. Would he believe her again? And if not, what would that mean for her and Holly and their new hometown?
CHAPTER 14
Regan hurried out of Party to Go Go holding a bag full of favors for Holly’s tea. There were enough for fifteen kids, one for every classmate coming. Each kitty bag had a kitty pencil, kitty eraser, kitty candy, and sheet of kitty stickers.
An errand that without Holly at her side should have taken five minutes became a thirty-minute ordeal when Delores, the store’s owner, felt the need to give hands-on instruction on how to properly dress a gift bag. Only to finish them herself when Regan came up lacking in the bow-making department.
Thank God Gabe had taken Holly this morning. Holly had promised to help Pricilla with the last-minute details of the party, and Regan still had to get Holly’s present. So Gabe, who had been drafted to hang the banner and handle all the heavy lifting, had offered to take Holly with him. Which should have made the morning a breeze.
But it hadn’t. Because all the kid-free time while buying Holly’s present led to too much I’m-not-just-a-mommy time to think: about him and his lips and the way he touched her, looked at her, made love to her.
And the way she still hadn’t told him about the investors’ money. It didn’t matter that she had not a clue as to where Richard or the millions went. Once Gabe knew about the account, the way he looked at her would change. Having Gabe in her corner would change. And she didn’t know if she could handle that. Especially if he decided to retaliate and it somehow affected Holly.
Telling h
erself that it was an omission and not a lie, Regan clutched the gift bags and hurried down the street toward her car. She did not feel one ounce of guilt when she waved at Mrs. Moberly, who was placing all of the Christmas-themed books in the library’s front window. Did not give in to the guilt when she thanked Stan after he mentioned that her new car battery was in and he could install it Monday. She knew that the universe understood her reasons for keeping a ginormous secret from the man whose bed she sometimes shared. But then she set the gift bags on the top of her car, opened her trunk—and immediately slammed it shut.
“No way,” she whispered, cracking the trunk again. This time slamming it so hard that half the kitty-themed bags toppled to the ground. “No freaking way.”
She closed her eyes, said a little prayer to ward off evil spirits and curses, and opened the trunk.
“Merry Christmas one and all,” Randolph said, smiling up at her from behind the green and red box containing one kitty pillow pet that Holly had all but begged for. All but, because begging would be considered rude.
Well, there was nothing “all but” about the way Regan reacted. Rude or not, she dropped enough four-letter words to send Holly to Europe for the summer. Either this was the universe’s form of a Dirty Jar and she was being punished for transgressions against the DeLucas, this town, and Christmas as a whole, or someone had a sick sense of humor. Or—Regan stood still, her back straight, head forward, only her eyes moving around the street, looking for clues—someone was setting her up.
Problem was, that someone could be anyone on the ever-growing list of people Regan Martin had crossed, intentionally or not. When Regan was satisfied that she was, for the most part, alone, she crouched low, getting in Big Red’s face.
“You don’t scare me,” she whispered in her most intimidating voice. It was the same one her mom had used when Regan got caught beheading the neighbor girl’s Barbie for making fun of her mom’s accent. “In fact, you should be scared. It appears I suffer from anger issues—just ask your hooved brethren. And for your safety and my sanity, after Holly’s party you are going back on that pedestal of yours, where you will stay. Forever.” She grabbed Holly’s present. “Let that penetrate through that thick, plastic head of yours.” And, needing to get in the last word, she quickly slammed the trunk shut with a resounding thud, grabbed the party bags, and walked across the street.
Based on the outside alone, Pricilla and the Mrs. Clauses had gone all out. The dancing elves in the windows had been replaced with kitties in tiaras, and two miniature Christmas trees, covered in candy canes and glittery bulbs, framed either side of the glass door. What caught Regan’s eye, though, was nothing shy of an early Christmas gift and made all of the Randolph rage fade into the background.
A small white sign hung in the doorway, surrounded by red twinkling lights and attached with a golden bow read, “Private party for Holly’s 6th Birthday Tea.”
As promised, Holly had assisted with every aspect of planning her party. She picked the menu, helped decorate, cut the sandwiches into little stars, and even dusted the tearoom from top to bottom. The Mrs. Clauses supervising and guiding and encouraging her at every step had made this so much more than just a party. It had been a warm welcome to the town and to their group.
Regan hopped over the curb and pushed through the shop’s door. Inside it smelled like chocolate and cinnamon and looked like Christmas gone drag.
Red-feathered ornaments hung from every nook and cranny, while disco-themed snowflakes covered the ceiling. The tables had been shoved together and covered in green sequined tablecloths and kitties in Christmas garb. The only thing missing, besides the kitchen sink, were the Mrs. Clauses and the birthday girl.
Whistling along with Nat King Cole, Regan set the party bags in the basket by the door and was taking Holly’s present to the counter when she stopped.
Standing under Holly’s birthday banner and beside a life-size cutout of David Hasselhoff—complete with red swim trunks, a Santa hat, and a sign that read “Hoff Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”—stood Isabel. She looked manicured and regal and way too pleased with herself for Regan to feel anything but nervous. Especially since she was sans one adorable child.
First Randolph. Then “El Diablo.” The Christmas curse was growing stronger.
Isabel gave the golden bell next to the cash register a little ding and then turned back to Regan. “Well, it looks like Holly’s big day is finally here.”
“Yeah. She’s really excited.” Regan looked around, hating that they were all alone, because with no witnesses it was hard not to grab Mr. Hasselhoff by the biceps and beat the crap out of Isabel. “So, where’s Lauren? Is she in the back with Holly and the Mrs. Clauses?”
Isabel raised her forehead. “Mrs. Clauses? How quaint. And no, Lauren’s dad and I switched weekends and she decided to have a little get-together with her friends instead.”
Regan swallowed. Holly was going to be crushed. “Why would you do that?”
“Oh, well, because I remembered where I knew you from.” Isabel looked her up and down. “You interned with the National Vintner’s Historical Society, right?”
One sentence and Regan felt her whole world start to unravel.
“My ex-husband worked on that project. He headed up the fund-raising here in the Valley. He worked a lot with the other teams.”
“Which one?” Regan asked.
“All of them, but mainly the Oregon team.”
“No, I meant, which husband.” Okay so it was a lame dig, but she was mad and it was all she had. When Isabel didn’t even take the bait, Regan knew whatever the woman had was going to be epic.
“Oh, my first one. The same one who talked about this pretty little Hispanic girl who worked very closely with Richard. Imagine my surprise when I looked up the press release the other day after the council meeting and saw you. Even more surprising is how incredibly similar Richard and Holly look. I can’t believe I never noticed it. I mean, side by side one might even think they were related.”
“Isabel, please don’t hurt Holly to get back at me. She’s had a hard enough time being one of the only kids in school without a dad.”
“Don’t worry,” Isabel said, laying a hand on Regan’s arm. “I would never tell people that Holly is Richard’s.”
“Thank you,” Regan whispered.
She would never want Holly to be ashamed of Richard. But to have people talking about their relationship in a sordid way, meaning that their kids would eventually overhear and repeat every detail to Holly, would break Regan’s heart. She didn’t want Holly to go through the kind of childhood Regan had.
“However,” Isabel said, “I know you can understand why I felt the need to warn some of my friends, whose husbands might be going through a difficult time right now. They have the right to choose whether their children spend time with someone they would never want their husbands to meet.”
Regan felt her face drain. She actually had to grip the counter to keep from sliding to the floor. “Is this all because Holly got the lead in the play?”
“No, this is because women like you don’t belong here, Regan. And it’s time people in this town understood that.” She rang the bell again, and when no one appeared, she walked behind the counter, pulled down a pink box with her name on it and walked to the door. Isabel looked over her shoulder. “Tell Pricilla to put it on my tab. Oh, and tell Holly happy birthday from me.”
Regan waited until she heard the bell on the door jingle closed before she collapsed into the nearest chair. This could not be happening. Not once when she had considered moving to St. Helena did she ever imagine the conversation that had just transpired. When she’d come here, she knew there would be a few hurdles, but the job at Ryo and the chance to give Holly the kind of life Regan had dreamed of for her had outweighed all of the downsides.
“Hey, there you are. I wanted to talk to you before Holly—” Gabe took one look at her face and came to stand in front of her. He squatted down to
eye level. She dropped her head to the table. “Regan, what’s wrong?”
“No one’s coming,” she mumbled into the green sequins, a feather sticking to her lip. No one was coming to her daughter’s sixth birthday party. The party that Holly had worked so hard on and was so excited about.
“Hey.” He slid his fingers through her hair. “It’s still early.”
She shook her head, her forehead bunching the tablecloth. “I just saw Isabel and everyone knows about Richard. And they don’t want their kids around someone who—” She couldn’t even say it. Not to him. Not when he used to look at her like that, but now he looked at her like she mattered. “Oh, God, Gabe. What I have I done? I should have never come here.”
“Mommy! Look!” Holly came bounding out of the kitchen in a white tea-length dress with a green sash and white collar. She gave a dramatic spin and the skirt belled out, reminding Regan of a snowflake princess. And the three Mrs. Clauses stood behind, looking proud as punch. “Lucinda made me the dress and Pricilla sewed on the apron and ChiChi lent me her crown.”
Holly pointed to the small tiara on her head. It was plastic and gaudy and when Regan squinted she could have sworn it said Cheetah’s Strip and Sip.
“I got it at Ruth’s bachelorette party,” ChiChi said proudly. Pricilla and Lucinda exchanged confused looks. “Her third one. When she married that podiatrist.”
“Ah.” Both ladies nodded with understanding.
“You look beautiful, angel,” Regan said, hugging her daughter and placing a kiss on top of her head. She licked her finger and stealthily tried to rub off the strip-club logo. No such luck.
“It was Lucinda’s idea. She said every little girl should get to be a princess for at least one day.” That surprised Regan, since Lucinda didn’t seem to have a feminine bone in her body. “So, Pricilla put it in the invitation that everyone should dress like a princess.”
