The Wrong Man

by Laura Abbot

  OR SO SHE HAD THOUGHT until she arrived home and played the message on her answering machine. A cold, dispassionate voice belonging to Jeremy Kantor requested an interview with her on his upcoming trip west. Squeezing her eyes shut, she listened as the man tersely set forth his objective: insight into her past and present relationship with her stepfather.

  How relentless would this reporter be? He had no right barging into her life, hounding her about matters best left unvisited. Even though Vernon had warned her, she had hoped to avoid being interviewed. She could always refuse, but that might raise more red flags than giving her carefully censored version of the truth. A truth she could not—would not—think about.

  After this morning, she had hoped the stress of the past week was behind her. Now, with one simple phone call, her stomach was again in knots.

  She went into the bedroom, stripped off her warm-up suit and workout clothes, then stepped into the shower. For ten minutes, she simply stood there, letting streams of hot water play over her sore muscles. Reluctantly she finished and dried off, wrapped her wet hair in a towel and reached in her closet for her cozy fleece robe. Mona sprawled on the foot of her bed, head lifted, green eyes fixed on Libby as if she sensed the swirling emotions in her mistress. For one crazy moment Libby contemplated trading places with her pet. Then life would be no more complicated than sleeping, eating, preening and occasionally purring.

  When the doorbell rang, Libby jumped. Retying the sash of her robe, she stepped into her slippers and made her way to the door, wondering what kid selling Boy Scout popcorn or tickets to a talent show would be standing on the other side. When she saw Trent instead, she was startled by the rush of blood to her face. She opened the door and stepped aside to avoid the blast of cool air. “Come in.”

  He stepped over the threshold, then stopped, noticing her state of undress. “I…is this a bad time?”

  “I just stepped out of the shower.” She closed the door. “Wait a minute. I’ll go change.”

  He took hold of her wrist and in a voice low and seductive asked one question. “Why?”

  She turned to face him, aware of every inch of naked flesh caressed by the warm robe. “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I,” he said, putting his arms loosely around her and lowering his lips to her neck, where he nibbled the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “You smell good.”

  Running her hands over the front of his parka, she stood on tiptoe and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “This isn’t a very good idea.”

  “Give me one reason why not.”

  For the life of her, Libby couldn’t think of a single one, not when her skin felt flushed and her legs were trembling. Breathless, she made the mistake of looking into his eyes, seeing there the reflection of her own rampaging desire.

  “Can’t, can you?” he whispered, running his fingers beneath the towel, which fell to the floor just as he buried his hands in her damp hair. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.

  Before she gave in to his kiss, she sensed Mona entwining herself between their feet. Then, cat or no cat, she lost herself in the smell, the feel, the closeness of him. Only when she felt the lapel of her robe part did she step back and clutch the material in her quivering fingers. “Oh, Trent, I don’t think I’m ready.”

  He watched her, amusement playing over his features, “You’re ready all right. So am I. Can’t you tell?”

  “It’s too fast,” she said, aware the words were pouring out of her in a spate of confusion. “And this time we’ve agreed, it has to be about more than—” she blushed “—you know…this. I mean, it’s only been a few days. We have so much to go over. We shouldn’t complicate the situation with…”

  “You can say the word, Lib. Sex.” He grinned. “But you’re right. This time it’s going to be about more. And only when you’re ready. So—” he took her by the shoulders, then pivoted her around and patted her on the rump “—go get dressed. Then we’ll talk.”

  She hurried into the bedroom, not knowing whether she was relieved or disappointed. She threw on a pair of jeans and an old corduroy shirt and rejoined him in the living room, where he sat on the sofa, legs splayed, stroking Mona.

  “It’s seemed forever since Wednesday night,” he said.

  “I know.” She curled up at the end of the sofa.

  “Thanks for giving me some time. I broke it off with Doug.”

  His fingers stilled on Mona’s back. “How did that go?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to revisit the scene. “All right.”

  “This decision we’ve made, it’s affecting lots of people, isn’t it?”

  “Doug. Kylie.”

  “And Ashley’s parents.” He caught her hand. “I need to warn you. They’re upset. Georgia in particular. Gus is taking a longer view, but they’re both concerned and anxious. Georgia thinks Kylie will forget Ashley.”

  “We would never let that happen.”

  “That’s what I told her.”

  “They’re scared. I can understand that. Kylie is all they have left of Ashley. Were you able to reassure them?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll help with that.”

  “Me?”

  “They’ve agreed to meet you. If you’re up for it. Kylie will be there, too.”

  Jeremy Kantor was a mere blip on the screen of life, Libby thought. Ashley’s parents were a formidable and unavoidable challenge. If she had any future with Trent and Kylie, it would have to include them. What kind of dynamic would a relationship with them present?

  “Lib?”

  She wanted to run and hide, like a little girl pulling the covers over her head to escape the bogeyman.

  “Would you come to the cabin for dinner tonight? Meet them?”

  She rested her forehead on her knees. Reluctant as she was, she realized that even the happy endings in fairy tales came only after the witches and dragons were confronted.

  When she looked up at Trent, there was only one answer. “Yes.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “DADDY, how do you spell ‘Georgia’?”

  Trent looked up from the stove. Kylie was bent over the table, holding a red crayon. “I’m making those name thingies for the party.”

  “You could just say ‘Grandma.’”

  “Yes, but Miss Cameron can’t call her that.” Kylie giggled.

  As he spooned the final layer of tomato sauce over the manicotti, Trent spelled the name. Kylie had such high hopes for tonight. After an inner debate, he’d settled on hosting this dinner. Kylie would be in her element, and the environment would be more conducive to conversation than the elegant Alpine Lodge or a noisy restaurant. He sprinkled grated Parmesan over the top of the casserole, then put it in the oven. The dish smelled good, but Trent didn’t feel like eating a bite.

  Weezer had contributed two loaves of fresh-baked bread and a word of advice—“Everything in its season, son.”

  By five minutes to six, the table was ready, and Kylie’s place cards stood at each setting. The tossed salad was chilling in the refrigerator and the aroma of marinara sauce and melted cheese filled the cabin. Trent had changed his tomato-spattered shirt for a forest-green turtleneck and stood anxiously peering out the window. Kylie danced nervously near the door. “I can’t wait for Grandpa and Grandma to meet Miss Cameron. I know they’re gonna like her, don’t you?”

  Trent settled for a noncommittal “Uh-huh.”

  Promptly at six, headlights appeared. “It’s her, it’s her,” Kylie trilled. “That’s Miss Cameron’s car.”

  Trent’s throat ached. He loved Libby and wanted so much for this to be right—for the Chisholms to see in her everything he did. But, he conceded, it would be difficult for them to look beyond the ghost of Ashley.

  “You’re right on time,” he greeted her as he threw the door open.

  “It’s the schoolteacher in me,” Libby confessed, looking beyond him questioningly.

  “They’re not here yet.”

  “Hi, Miss Camero
n. Come see the name-tag things I made.”

  And before Trent could even link his fingers reassuringly through Libby’s, Kylie had grabbed her by the arm and led her to the table.

  Trent followed, standing behind Libby as she oohed and aahed over Kylie’s artwork. He set his hands on her shoulders, drawing resolve from the delicate fragrance of her cologne and the sheen of her dark hair. Then she turned and looked up at him, her eyes warm with caring. “We’ll get through this okay,” she whispered.

  It amazed him how she intuited his feelings now in a way she never had before, as if years ago they’d set forth on the same path, which had diverged for a time, and now had come back together. “Somehow,” he muttered.

  “I hear a car, Daddy.” Kylie ran onto the porch.

  “They’re here.”

  “You ready?” Trent asked Libby before moving toward the door.

  Her smile was tentative. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Kylie grabbed her grandmother by the hand and drew her into the room. Gus trailed behind.

  After the removal of coats and a flurry of greetings, Georgia looked around the room. “Small,” she said by way of comment.

  Trent chided himself. Why hadn’t he opted for the neutral ground of a restaurant? “We prefer to think ‘cozy.’”

  “Reminds me of an old hunting cabin my dad had,” Gus added.

  Trent placed a palm in the small of Libby’s back. “Georgia, Gus, I’d like you to meet Libby Cameron.”

  “She’s my teacher,” Kylie interjected proudly.

  Gus stepped forward and took Libby’s hand. “Miss Cameron,” he said, the “glad to meet you” noticeably unspoken.

  “A pleasure,” Libby said, then turned to smile at Georgia. “Mrs. Chisholm, I’ve heard so many good things about you from Kylie. I’m looking forward to getting acquainted.”

  Georgia hesitated before responding. “Yes, well, I am quite close to my granddaughter.”

  Trent locked his fingers behind his back, desperate to appear calm. Fortunately, Kylie, oblivious to the tension, saved the day. “Grandma, come see my room. And my Barbies,” she said, eyeing the gift bag in her grandmother’s hand. “You come, too, Miss Cameron.”

  Libby cast a quick glance at Trent, who nodded his encouragement. “Excuse me, Mr. Chisholm,” Libby murmured before following Kylie and Georgia.

  After they left, Gus stood by the fireplace warming his hands.

  “Drink?” Trent asked.

  “A tall one might be in order.”

  He fixed Gus a highball, then popped the top of a beer for himself. “Cheers,” he said, handing the glass to Gus.

  Gus glanced down the hall toward the bedroom. “This getting-acquainted business is going to take time.”

  “I know.”

  “Naturally, as grandparents, we’re concerned first and foremost about Kylie’s welfare.”

  “That’s as it should be. If you give Lib a chance, I think she’ll measure up.”

  “That’s why I’m here. To see.” He took a swig of his drink. “But Georgia? I don’t know. I hope she’ll be open-minded, but I wouldn’t bank on it. She’s still mourning Ashley. I guess we both are. Probably always will.”

  “Understandable,” Trent said. “But for Kylie and me, life has to go on.”

  Gus put his arm around Trent’s shoulders. “We just hope that doesn’t mean going on without us.”

  It was impossible not to notice the hint of fear in the older man’s voice. “It doesn’t. You will always be part of this family.”

  All Gus could do was nod, because, Trent suspected, he didn’t trust his voice.

  LIBBY STOOD in the doorway of Kylie’s room, feeling invisible, her heart in her throat. Georgia sat on the edge of the bed and helped Kylie unwrap the latest Barbie—a princess arrayed in sparkles and satin. Lined up on the floor beside the dresser were at least a dozen other voluptuous dolls.

  Kylie turned to Libby and pointed to the array. “Sit down there. Pick one.” Kylie knelt on the floor, then gestured to her grandmother to sit beside her. “Let’s play Barbies.”

  Georgia frowned fleetingly, as if uncertain she wanted to join them, but gamely she sank down, tucking her legs behind her. Libby selected a nurse Barbie, while Georgia picked up the closest doll, a chef.

  “I’m keeping this one,” Kylie trumpeted, holding up the new Barbie. “She’s beautiful. I’m naming her Ashley. Like Mommy.”

  Her grandmother flinched. “Do you remember your mommy?” the older woman asked.

  “’Course I do. I’ve told Miss Cameron all about her, right?” Kylie looked at Libby.

  “Indeed she has.” Libby sought Georgia’s eyes. “Your daughter must have been a remarkable and beautiful woman. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Georgia’s demeanor stiffened, as if she was struggling for control. She merely nodded in acknowledgment.

  Kylie held “Ashley” aloft. “See, she’s the queen of you two. She wants nurse and chef to be friends, right, Ashley?” She gestured at the dolls Libby and Georgia held. “You hug each other, okay?”

  For an instant, Libby thought the older woman was going to refuse, but finally she held out her chef for the nurse’s hug. “Hello,” Libby murmured. “Glad to meet you.”

  “How do you do,” Georgia said.

  “Good,” Kylie announced. “Now, who’s going to start? I want you two to tell Ashley everything you like about her.” The little girl smiled. “She likes to hear why she’s the best queen.”

  Libby looked at the painted face of the nurse doll, then walked her over to Ashley. Georgia sat, head down, holding her doll loosely between her fingers. “You are the best queen,” Libby began, “because you have a good heart, and for that reason, everyone you meet loves you and will never, ever forget you.”

  Kylie turned expectantly to her grandmother.

  When Georgia looked up, Libby saw the glaze of tears in her sad, gray eyes, and could only imagine the effort of will this “game” was exacting from her. Libby’s heart melted. This was a woman desperately seeking to keep her mask in place, but one obviously in pain.

  “Queen Ashley…” Georgia began, then stopped to clear her throat. “Queen Ashley, you are beautiful, both inside and out.”

  Kylie moved the Barbie’s waist into a bow and then, with a beaming smile, added her own compliment. “Best of all, Queen Ashley, you are the nicest mommy I know.”

  Libby couldn’t help herself. She reached out and squeezed Georgia’s thin hand. “Your Ashley must have been an extraordinary woman,” she said softly.

  “She was,” Georgia murmured, just before she rearranged her face into its customary impassive expression.

  Nevertheless, in that moment, Libby experienced a glimmer of hope.

  TRENT LEFT GUS enjoying his highball and stepped down the hall. “Would you ladies like a drink—wine, beer?”

  Kylie looked up. “It’s okay,” she said to the women. “I’ll play Barbies and you guys can do grown-up stuff.”

  The women followed him into the living room, where they sat at opposite ends of the sofa. Gus commented on the weather, then Libby offered a brief account of Kylie’s adjustment to school.

  “Libby’s been tutoring her in reading,” Trent said as he handed each woman a glass of wine.

  Georgia looked surprised. “I didn’t know she was having trouble.”

  “It’s not unusual after a parent’s death for children to regress temporarily,” Libby told her. “She’s already showing progress.”

  “I guess we should thank you, then,” Gus said.

  Libby smiled. “Not necessary. It’s been a pleasure.”

  At another conversational impasse, they all, simultaneously, turned to their drinks.

  Trent pulled a kitchen stool into their midst and perched on it. “Maybe it would relax us if we just admitted that this is an awkward situation for everyone.”

  The look in Libby’s eye told him she was grateful for his candor.

>   “I’ve told you a little about my history with Libby and about my feelings for her. We’ve only just met again, so we plan to spend some time together, see where this goes. In no way, though, does that mean I would forget Ashley. She was too important a part of my life.”

  “Nor would I want you to,” Libby said.

  Gus was looking at him with interest, but Trent had no idea what Georgia was thinking. “Libby is a great person. Kylie is crazy about her. Exploring the relationship just makes sense for all of us.”

  “But Kylie…?” Georgia’s voice faltered.

  Libby took up the conversational thread. “What Kylie needs most is stability and harmony. I know the idea that Trent and I are involved has to be incredibly difficult for you. I am also aware how much he loved your daughter, and what a much better man he is for having known her. I honor that about him. And having lost my own mother at a young age, I can fully empathize with Kylie. I assure you she will never forget her mother. I’ve certainly never forgotten mine.”

  A silence followed Libby’s words and Trent was helpless to fill it. At that moment, the oven buzzer went off, and with relief, he busied himself getting the dinner on the table. Libby offered to help and he gratefully handed her the salad bowl and a bottle of dressing. Kylie reappeared with Queen Ashley, and the Chisholms focused all their attention on their granddaughter. Trent couldn’t remember, even on the most strenuous high-altitude hike, when he’d ever found it so difficult to breathe.

  Dinner would have been a social disaster without Kylie’s innocent banter. Hell, he’d give anything to see the world through his child’s eyes. To her this was a gathering of people who cared about her, and from her limited perspective, the natural corollary was that they should all get along.

  By the time Gus got around to asking more about Libby’s background, the meal was nearly over. Georgia stared at her plate while Libby spoke, then finally raised her head. “Why did you marry Trent in the first place?”