Least Likely Wedding?

by Patricia McLinn

  He stood. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  Chapter Four

  Kay Aaronson looked around the kitchen of the Hollands’ house.

  She hadn’t had a chance to do that during the whirlwind tour Rob had given before leaving as fast as his long legs could carry him.

  As he’d said, they were from different worlds. As different as this kitchen was from the gleaming, stainless-steel-appliance-ridden kitchen that her parents had recently gutted without a qualm. Her mother had declared the stainless look “pedestrian, now that everyone’s doing it.”

  But this kitchen… It looked like a real home. There were yellow paper napkins in a wooden holder on the table, a cookie jar decorated with a green-and-gold Green Bay Packers logo atop the refrigerator, and a piece of white legal-pad paper on the table addressed to her.

  Kay,

  You’ll find the basics in the fridge and the second drawer between the fridge and the sink. Miss Trudi said to feel free to help yourself to whatever else you need.

  Rob

  So this was what he’d done after dropping her off at the motel. She opened the fridge. Lettuce, eggs, carrots, tomatoes, cheese—naturally—butter, orange juice, milk, coffee, blueberries and a half-dozen fresh peaches.

  She took a peach, washed it and dried it with a paper towel while she looked in the drawer. Bread, crackers, a tin of mixed nuts and a generic bran cereal. Not bad.

  That didn’t change the fact that Rob was not her type. She bit into the cool peach and chewed with pleasure.

  Sure, he was good-looking enough. Broad shoulders, dark blond hair. Clear, intelligent eyes. That neck. And there was the chemistry.

  But clearly chemistry didn’t sway Rob Dalton.

  And that was good news. Barry wasn’t her first relationship wreck. Really, had any of her relationships been successful? Even one limited to eight weeks posed hazards. So she was glad he wanted to forget kissing her.

  Okay, she was a little hurt, too.

  I won’t forget my responsibilities because of one hot kiss.

  Couldn’t get much plainer than that. She knew exactly where she stood with him—nowhere.

  Which was another way he wasn’t her type. She preferred a man with some mystery, she decided as she climbed the stairs to the guest room. Rob had deposited her suitcase there before departing as if the tornado that had hit Tobias last month had scooped him up.

  The room had a white bedspread on a double bed with a yellow-and-white quilt folded at the foot. Dormer windows looked out on a neat backyard. A dresser and bookcase were tucked into an alcove.

  Someone who challenged her intellectually, that’s what she wanted. That was another element missing with Barry, along with the fact that his idea of communicating was small talk at a cocktail party. And the fact that he’d preferred socializing with her parents to spending time with her.

  She went to the tiny adjoining bathroom to wash peach juice off her hands. She opened the narrow closet, enjoyed a waft of cedar, then got busy.

  Not that Rob Dalton wasn’t smart. He clearly was.

  Interesting that Rob was involved in finance—or had been—yet he didn’t boast about his killings on Wall Street the way Barry had. Remembering comments around the Bliss House committee table made her wonder now if she had that right. The others seemed to believe he remained a financial analyst. That was a bit of a mystery….

  Oh, God. She’d just thought she wanted a man with some mystery.

  She shook her head and forced a laugh into the quiet room. Yeah, but she hadn’t meant a mystery about his job status.

  Besides, the last thing she needed was a romance with some guy in the middle of the country. She planned to focus on building a career in films, which meant being in New York. Possibly L.A. Definitely not Wisconsin. And even without career considerations, the idea of her in a town this small was laughable. What did she know about life in a place like this, a home like this?

  She arranged a cotton top on a hanger and added it to the closet. Three black tops were lined up next to four pairs of black pants. She looked down, to two pairs of black shoes, then into her suitcase. Other than a few nude-color bras and panties, her wardrobe was black, relieved by charcoal gray and occasional white.

  Maybe Rob was right, maybe she did need more color.

  That didn’t mean he was right for her. Far from it. Their chemistry was a fluke. Sure she would have been willing to explore it some, but not with anything serious in mind.

  And he clearly thought she was some sort of siren sent to lure him straight to hell.

  She supposed it was admirable of him not to have taken advantage of her willingness. He was like the kitchen. Straightforward, comfortable and well-built. Not the least bit flashy and so…so midwestern.

  Only as she stowed the empty suitcase in the closet did a question hit her.

  What did it say about her that a man who was good looking, intelligent, thoughtful, a gentleman, and kissed like she’d never been kissed before was not her type?

  “Good evening, Rob. How pleasant to see you.”

  Miss Trudi welcomed him to her new apartment as if she hadn’t been sidestepping him all afternoon. He’d looked for her here, at Bliss House, the library and two of her friends’ houses. At each place, he’d been told she’d just left.

  “I have a few questions for you, Miss Trudi.”

  “Of course, you do.” She led him to a couch. “You want to know about Kay, and who can blame you—such a lovely young woman.”

  “I do not—”

  “I know you would not ask me to betray confidences.” She patted his arm. “I do appreciate that quality in you. But I can tell you that Kay had an upbringing sadly lacking in many aspects. She did not want for material goods, even when her father—ah, we shall not speak of that. Her parents—”

  “Miss Trudi.”

  “—have devoted themselves to their position among the social elite of New York City, leaving far too little for Kay. Despite that and certain, ah, strains in the family, Kay has grown up to be a remarkable—”

  “So remarkable she dumped her fiancé.”

  “She called off her engagement two weeks before the wedding, yes.”

  “Twelve days.” He sat back. “I’m not saying she’s a bad person, but look at all those jobs. She clearly can’t settle to anything. Not a job, not a relationship.”

  “Settling is not always a good thing, Rob.”

  He ignored that. “Kay’s not the person to help with Bliss House. What does she know about Tobias? She’s from a different world.”

  “Nonsense. The human heart is the same anywhere it beats. Consider Kay’s grandmother, Dora Aaronson. A famous artist, you know.”

  “I know who Dora Aaronson is.” She was Tobias’s only claim to fame. “You already told us that she was involved in having the video shot here.”

  “The point I am establishing is that Dora was raised and educated here in Tobias before moving to New York, entering what many would call an entirely different world. Yet the heart of the woman now feted as an American treasure is the same heart as the girl to whom I taught art.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Indeed I do. Despite the sorrows of her life, including this terrible estrangement from Kay, I know that her heart is the same.”

  He was tempted by the worm Miss Trudi dangled—this terrible estrangement from Kay—but he saw the hook, too.

  “It’s so sad when two people who have loved each other grow apart, or are cut apart,” she continued. “A sadness that you should empathize with, having recently suffered the end of your marriage.”

  The hook suddenly looked more appealing than the alternative—a discussion of his divorce.

  “What happened—with Kay and her grandmother,” he clarified.

  “Ah, who can know what happens between two people?” Miss Trudi asked.

  “The two people,” he said.

  She gave him a peculiar look. Sad and twinkling at the same time.
“You are a dear man, Rob.”

  “Uh, thank you.”

  “I do wish, however, that you would rid yourself of the notion that the human heart adds, subtracts and multiplies by the same rules that govern mathematics.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Of course you do, dear. Although, it is not a conscious act, I do concede that.”

  He’d let this conversation get way off track.

  “Miss Trudi. I came here to ask you about the money. Where’s this supposed donation that’s covering Kay’s expenses coming from? Bliss House cannot afford any expenditure not already in the budget.”

  “It is so fortunate that you reminded me. I have carried the check right here in order to give it to you as soon as I saw you—no, not that pocket. It must be… Perhaps I left it in my smock.”

  Oh, no, she didn’t. No delays. “Miss Trudi—”

  “No! Here it is.”

  Miss Trudi Bliss placed a check in his hand. He saw the name of a well-known bank, a foundation he’d never heard of, and a dollar amount with five figures to the left of the decimal point.

  A good night’s sleep put everything back in perspective for Kay.

  Nothing had changed, she realized as she walked toward Bliss House. While she waited for the producer to work with her footage, then for the video to come out in a few months, she would do her best to help Miss Trudi and Bliss House. Also, she would ask friends for agent recommendations to find an apartment. Her life would be in perfect order when she returned to New York. But first came paying back Miss Trudi.

  From across the street she contemplated the entrance to Bliss House’s grounds. It appeared like “before” and “after” photos spliced together. On the left was the “after,” with the brick wall freshly re-pointed and the wrought iron atop it sparkling. On the other side was “before,” with rust, crumbling mortar and weeds. She’d wanted a two-shot of Brice and Laura at the gate, but no matter how she’d framed it, “before” showed.

  A sound made her look up.

  Trotting down the under-construction walkway right toward her was a huge, hairy beast. A dog. It had to be a dog, but it looked as far from her mother’s pampered little toys as an animal could be.

  “Good dog. Good dog,” she said with desperate hope. The tail kept wagging and the dirty beast kept coming. “Sit!”

  The dog sat.

  Kay stared in amazement. How about that.

  The animal had a broad head that narrowed to a black-button nose. Not a cute button, more like an elevator button. This close, she could see, under a coating of dust and dirt, paler fur around its neck. The ears tipped at the ends. They moved around like a radar dish trying to pick up a signal.

  “Good dog.”

  The ears zeroed in on her, and she could swear the mouth grinned.

  “Well, time to get to work,” she told the dog as she pulled her camcorder from her tote, “and get acquainted with this place.”

  The dog started to get up, and she said, “Sit!”

  It sat. This was one smart dog.

  She edged past him, trying not to step in Fran Dalton’s flower beds, and headed toward the house. She’d gone maybe three yards when she became aware of the dog trotting behind.

  She started up the stairs, and heard what must be toe-nails on the steps behind her. She turned around, and there it was.

  “Oh, no you don’t, buster. You can’t come in.” The dog backed down, not looking the least bit crestfallen. Buster didn’t quite fit. Another name came to mind, the name bestowed on an injured robin fledgling she and Dora had nursed back to health one spring and watched fly off the windowsill to its own life. “I’m busy, so you’re on your own, Chester.”

  The dog stood at the bottom of the steps and watched her, head tipped, mouth grinning.

  Kay felt for the light-level adjustment on the camcorder as she panned the tearoom. A pale blur blotted out everything else in the viewfinder. Kay jolted her head back.

  “Hello, dear. How are you today?”

  “Oh. Miss Trudi.” She had stepped in front of the camera. “Hi.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea? Max and his gentlemen are at work on my lovely new home, so I am using the facilities here today.”

  “No thanks.” She spotted a box on the high counter that divided the work area. “Are these doughnuts yours, Miss Trudi?”

  “No, dear. Suz brings them for everyone—she is very fond of baked goods. Please, do help yourself.”

  “It’s not for me. There’s a dog outside and he might be hungry and thirsty.”

  Miss Trudi plucked two plain doughnuts and placed them on a napkin. “Of course you must take these, as well as water, to the poor creature.”

  They found a container for water and carried it to the front porch. The dog still sat there. His tail thumped when he saw them, then picked up speed when he caught a whiff of the doughnuts. Kay broke up half of one and put the pieces down. The dog inhaled them. Poor thing.

  Miss Trudi spread her arms, a damp breeze fluttering the loose sleeves of her tunic. “What miracles our dear Fran is working with these gardens. She has such talent. Her mother would be so proud.”

  The doughnut’s second half disappeared as fast.

  “The Daltons were always such a nice family. So sad that Dennis and Vicki passed away at such young ages. Vicki was so finely attuned to her children’s emotions that they lost a great deal with her death, particularly coming as it did at turning points in their lives, as Rob departed for college and Fran entered tenth grade. Dennis felt his own grief so keenly that he did not aid them to the extent he might have.”

  The dog looked hopefully at the other doughnut. Kay nudged the container of water with her toe. The dog sighed, dropped its head and drank. Not all the water got in the dog’s mouth. Kay quickly pulled her toe back.

  “In their losses, Rob and Fran are most fortunate to have each other. But that should not blind one to their individual strengths.”

  Kay put down the pieces of another half a doughnut.

  “I have seen a number of people misjudge Rob Dalton,” Miss Trudi said, “believing that because he is reliable and sensible that there is no spirit to him. I know you wouldn’t make that error.”

  “Nope,” Kay said, deliberately flip. “I wouldn’t. He’s got plenty of spirit—mean-spirit.”

  With the last bit of doughnut gone, the dog licked its chops and drank again.

  “Oh, no, you mistake him, I can assure you. Rob—”

  “You heard him going on about needing my work history.”

  “Yes, indeed, I did, and found it most interesting.”

  “Interesting? He took delight in needling me about having a lot of jobs.”

  “Are you quite certain of that, my dear?”

  “Sure. And what’s so wrong with diversity, huh?”

  “A diversity of experience can be beneficial,” Miss Trudi agreed. “As can diversity in people involved in a relationship, say, theoretically, a romance.”

  Kay wasn’t in the mood to discuss romance, even theoretical romance.

  “Thanks for the doughnuts, Miss Trudi. I need to get back to work.”

  Twenty minutes later, Kay used her hand to shade the camcorder viewer as she exited Bliss House’s back door. Backing up step by careful step, she panned from right to left. Across the gardens-in-the-making, along the wall that marked Miss Trudi’s current domain, to the drive, the low brick wall that enclosed the patio, and a figure sitting on the wall. Rob. The panning stopped. When the zoom zeroed in on his mouth with no conscious effort on her part, she quickly lowered the viewer.

  He sat just to her left. If she’d backed up a few more steps she would have been in his lap.

  “Hi.” He sounded as wary as he looked.

  “Relax, Rob. I’m not going to jump you.”

  “I didn’t think you were.”

  Liar. Why else would he have run out of her motel room and practically thrown her belongings in the Hollands’ house? “
Yeah, well… Good. Because I got the message. So…” The moment called for light, so she pulled out her brightest and sunniest voice. “What brings you here?”

  “I gave Fran a ride. Now I’m waiting for papers Max needs run over for Steve’s signature. Could you please turn that off?”

  “Sure.” She put the camcorder in her tote. “I was recording Bliss House.”

  His hands curved around the edge of the wall at either side of his hips. The morning sun hit his left hand—and she saw the pale band of skin at the base of his ring finger.

  “What’s the matter?” He looked around, trying to see what had made her jaw drop.

  She had never looked for a ring. A ring he’d recently taken off, judging by that band of white.

  “You’re married? You got all righteous about my broken engagement when all the time you’re—”

  “I’m divorced.”

  Two crisp words instantly iced her anger. They were two jabs from a boxer—one-two, I’m-divorced. Yet this boxer aimed the blows at himself.

  “In the process or—?”

  “Divorced. Papers signed. Legalities completed. No longer married.”

  Only recently, judging from the ring mark. Was that what he’d meant about the timing being bad? Was that why he was so wary of her?

  “I’m sorry. That’s… I’m sorry. Well, guess I’ll find Fran and ask, uh, about the gardens.”

  She gave a sort of wave, turned, and tripped over something warm and solid at knee level. What an exit—a pratfall.

  Except she didn’t go down, because Rob’s long arm wrapped around her and pulled her back.

  It should have been a nice, neat save. But instead of leaving her upright, the reversed momentum landed her hard against his chest. He’d half risen from the wall to grab her and now her contact knocked him back to his seat. He hadn’t let go of her, so she came with him, collapsing into a heap with her top half sprawled across his chest, her butt slamming against his thigh and the rest of her flailing around like one of those crash dummies who’d forgotten his seat belt.