Just one moment
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Newsletter
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part II
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Extract: Just One Kiss
The Ashcroft Saga
Boston 5
Just One Moment
A Romance Novel
Poppy J. Anderson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Just One Moment
Copyright © 2017 by Poppy J. Anderson
Cover design by Catrin Sommer – www.rauschgold.com
Edited by Annie Cosby
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Publication: 2017
www.poppyjanderson.com
poppyj.anderson@googlemail.com
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Prologue
As she steered her car up the well-maintained driveway that led to her ex-husband’s house, Barbara Ashcroft straightened her shoulders and glanced in the rearview mirror, just to make sure she didn’t look like a scarecrow.
She shouldn’t have actually cared anymore what she looked like when she saw James, for their divorce had been finalized two years ago. That should have been enough time to break the habit of raking a hand through her hair, checking her lipstick, and fidgeting with her clothes whenever James was around. But the habit had a different purpose now. She no longer needed to impress him or win him over. No, now it was mainly about demonstrating how great she was doing since she’d gotten rid of him.
They were barely on speaking terms. If it hadn’t been for their two sons, who were sitting in the back seat that very moment, impatient to spend the day with their dad, Barbara would have had no reason and no inclination to ever exchange another word with James.
Getting a divorce had been their only solution. But for the sake of nine-year-old Hamilton and seven-year-old Scott, they put on polite faces and interacted civilly—at least when the kids were around. Beyond that, Barbara didn’t want anything to do with the man. She still got a stomachache if she was forced to spend too much time with him—anything over ten minutes, really.
And yet she had to cross his path several times a week, when she took the boys to his house, or when he brought them back in the evening, when Scott had a soccer game, or Hamilton had a swim meet. Both parents were still very much involved in their children’s lives, so it was virtually impossible not to run into each other. At school plays and other functions, they even sat together to show their sons that Mom and Dad were getting along fine, that they were still a family. Barbara didn’t want her sons to know how hard it was for her to face their father and keep her composure.
It was for their sake that she and James had agreed to go through this divorce in a calm, rational way, without fighting or bad-mouthing each other. There had been no mud-slinging, no fighting over money, and they shared custody with downright perverse cordiality. Barbara, Hamilton, and Scott had stayed in the house they’d bought after they got married, while James had moved into a house that looked almost identical, only a few blocks away.
Yes, Barbara and James would probably go down in divorce history, for there had certainly never been—nor would there be—a divorce as civilized as theirs.
In fact, Barbara’s female friends still liked to tell her that her and James’s separation seemed just as perfect as their marriage had been before it. In reality, their marriage had failed after the textbook seven years. Whenever anyone mentioned it, Barbara remained silent. She didn’t tell her friends how much it hurt that her dream wedding to her dream guy—and former best friend—had led to a marriage that eventually turned into a nightmare. Nor did she tell them why she still had a hard time looking James in the eye without bursting into tears. Of course, there were a lot of rumors about the cause of their breakup, but Barbara would not do anyone the favor of revealing that secret.
Nobody would have understood anyway.
She’d gotten used to the fact that part of Connecticut’s high society thought she was to blame for their divorce, some alleging that she was a spoiled bitch who was never satisfied. That particular rumor stemmed from the fact that her late father had been something of an East Coast tycoon while James was “merely” CEO of a smaller corporation. But it was utterly ridiculous if you took into account that James not only had complete control of his company—and the salary to match—but also that his father was none other than Archibald Scott Campbell, who owned half the State of Virginia.
All that notwithstanding, when Barbara had married James, she’d never calculated what a good catch he might or might not be. She’d married him at twenty-four because she was madly in love with him. A year older than her, he’d been her boyfriend ever since they’d met in her first week at Stanford University.
While one half of Connecticut society had singled her out as the cause of their breakup, the other half made James the scapegoat, and didn’t hesitate to speculate about his indiscretions. But Barbara didn’t listen to those rumors, either, instead forcing herself to ignore the malicious gossip.
You could say what you wanted about James, but he was a good father, and he loved his children to the moon and back. Barbara was ruminating on that as he came out of the house with a cheerful wave.
“Dad!” Scott squealed enthusiastically as Barbara parked the car in the driveway. The seven-year-old unbuckled himself from his seatbelt, pushed the door open, and jumped from his mother’s Mercedes as soon as she put it in park.
Barbara knew her youngest was impatient to tell his dad about yesterday’s soccer practice and couldn’t be bothered with safety details when he was excited, so she didn’t admonish him. She just watched with a sinking feeling as the blond boy hugged his father and started to chatter without pausing for breath.
James gave his son his undivided attention, listened closely, and mussed up Scott’s hair indulgently. Nobody could deny they were father and son. Both Scott and Hamilton had inherited James’s blond hair, his blue eyes, the dimple in his chin. Not to mention the rascally smile Barbara’s ex still possessed even at the age of thirty-four—though she’d rarely had occasion to see it over the past two years.
While she switched off the engine and pulled the key from the ignition, Barbara covertly studied the father of her sons. He was a handsome man with pale blond hair, a charming face, and a tall frame, which was currently clad in a pair of Bermuda shorts and a blue polo shirt. He’d always been passionate about sports, spending his spare time rowing, running, and playing tennis, so he still possessed an athletic body that hadn’t changed much since college.
Before they’d gotten married, they’d gone to Aspen or Switzerland to ski each winter, and in the summer, they’d gone to Colorado to go rafting in the canyons or rock-climbing. They’d also played tennis year-round, playing mixed doubles against other couples. Looking back, Barbara had to admit they’d been extremely active and had had a lot of fun together. Thanks to their common interests, they’d been on the same wavelength right from the start. So it wasn’t surprising at all that James had not just become her first boyfriend, but also her best friend.
“Mom?”
Her head jerked toward Hamilton, who was still sitting in the back of the car, a thick drawing pad in his lap. It had become his constant companion a while ago.
“Yes, honey?” She gave him a tender smile and reached out to lightly caress the bruised knee he’d gotten the day before when trying out his new skateboard, a present from his uncle, her younger brother Stuart.
At nine, Hamilton was rather quiet, at least compared to his boisterous brother, and he was exceptionally sensitive and perceptive for his age. He tilted his head now, chewing on his lower lip. “When can Scott and I go visit the babies? I have a present for them—and for Aunt Amy and Uncle Patrick.”
Barbara squeezed his leg, touched by his gesture. Both Hamilton and Scott were ecstatic about becoming cousins to a pair of twins born only last night. “That’s very nice of you. Why don’t you call Uncle Patrick later and ask him? Maybe he’ll invite you guys to the hospital to meet them tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.” Her son sighed heavily and confessed in a low voice, “I’d rather go with you now, Mom.”
“I know.” She gave him a smile she hoped didn’t feel as sad as it felt. “But I’m sure Aunt Amy is really tired today. I’m just going to swing by for a few minutes and say hi. I don’t want to bother her too much. I’m sure we can all go tomorrow. Your dad wanted to do something with you today anyway.”
Hamilton had never been one to protest a reasonable argument. He was almost frighteningly sensible for his age. He nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Can I take my new drawings tomorrow and show them to Aunt Amy? Dad wanted to see them today, but I want to take them tomorrow too.”
“I think that sounds like a good plan,” Barbara replied indulgently, and registered with motherly pride that he gave her a charming smile before he got out of the car.
She took a few deep breaths and then got out as well. After getting the boys’ backpacks from the trunk, she walked up the neatly paved path and joined James and their sons on the porch. Barbara had no eyes for the sprawling, manicured front yard, the gorgeous flowers in bloom, or the pretty, freshly painted façade of the house. Instead, she watched tensely as her ex-husband’s expression softened as he pulled Hamilton into an embrace and pressed a kiss to their nine-year-old’s hair.
She took another deep breath as she stepped closer, smiling mechanically when James raised his head and offered her the kind of smile that, in another life, had made her knees go weak.
“Hi, Barbara.”
“James.” She gave a curt nod, grateful when Scott claimed his father’s attention by tugging on his hand and jumping up and down like an excited puppy.
“Dad? Dad? Guess what! I made three goals yesterday at soccer! Three!”
James tore his gaze away from Barbara to look down at Scott. “Wow! Three?” he said, impressed. “That calls for celebrating, pal. We could go out for ice cream later.”
Naturally, Scott’s reply was a whoop of joy that echoed along the driveway.
Before Scott had finished cheering, James put a hand on Hamilton’s shoulder and asked, “Did you bring some new drawings, champ? I’m still waiting to see the one you were talking about last weekend.”
A lump formed in Barbara’s throat at the sight of her son leaning against his dad and beaming up at him. That lump was pretty frequent when she saw the three of them together. It was obvious how much the boys loved their dad, and how much James loved his sons.
“I brought my whole portfolio, Dad,” Hamilton confirmed cheerfully, holding the large folder against his chest.
“That’s great.” James turned to include Scott as he casually asked, “Do you guys want to head to the backyard? I could use your help mowing the lawn.”
Though Barbara could see her youngest wanted to run straight through the house to the backyard, he hugged her first, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, honey,” she replied cheerfully, running her hand down his back. “Have fun with your dad, and don’t eat too much ice cream.”
The mischievous grin he gave her before disappearing into the house said everything.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes, then said goodbye to Hamilton, who hugged her a little tighter than his brother had and then walked inside at a normal pace. For the sensitive Hamilton, the divorce had been a disaster, even with his parents doing everything they could to make it easy on their kids. After James had moved out, Hamilton had suffered from a crushing fear of abandonment, sleeping in Barbara’s room each night. He’d gotten used to the situation by now, having one home with his mom and one with his dad, but Barbara still worried about him.
For her children’s sake, she’d actually considered staying married at the time. But—
“You look so elegant today,” James said, breaking into her reverie as he took the boys’ backpacks from her. And with a compliment to boot.
“Thank you,” she replied primly.
“Do you have an appointment or something?” His voice was still cordial, unfazed by her stand-offish demeanor. Sometimes she yearned for him to stop answering her abrasive behavior with a smile, to stop pretending there was no problem.
She sighed. “I’m just going to the hospital to meet my new nephews.”
It was overly obvious Barbara didn’t want to chat, but, like usual, James acted like her frosty attitude was perfectly normal. It never failed to annoy her.
Another thing that annoyed her was the way he spoke about the rest of her family.
“Oh, I called Eleanore this morning,” he said, “and she told me the babies are healthy and perfect. She was beside herself with joy.”
Barbara pressed her lips together. She couldn’t say what was worse: the fact that he got along so well with her mother that they talked on the phone, or the fact that he spoke about her brother and his wife as if they were all still one big, happy family.
But she didn’t want to argue about any of that, so she swallowed her irritation and tried not to notice how cramped and stiff her shoulders felt after only a few minutes in his presence. “I should be on my way,” she said hollowly. “Please remember Scott’s allergic to banana in any form. He always wants a banana split, but he—”
“I know that, Barbara,” James interrupted patiently, reacting to her overbearing tone with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Good.” She nodded abruptly. “Enjoy your day with the boys.”
When she turned to go, his hesitant voice stopped her. “Wait … Barbara.”
She took a deep breath and turned, his contrite expression like a small stab to her chest.
“What is it, James? I really need to get going.”
He inhaled deeply. “Do you have any plans for the afternoon?” he asked shyly.
Since she knew what was coming, she nodded dismissively. “I’m meeting Cynthia Mitchell to talk about the next gala.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed.
Seeing his pout, she stiffened.
He met her eyes. “Too bad,” he murmured reluctantly. “I just … I thought we might go get some ice cream together. All four of us, I mean. The weather’s so nice, and the boys would be thrilled if we all went together—like we used to.”
The lump in her throat grew bigger and bigger as James’s gaze became more penetrating. He looked downright hopeful.
Barbara took a deep breath. She didn’t want to start a debate on principle, so she raised both hands defensively and declined calmly. �
��I really don’t have the time, James.”
“The boys would love an afternoon together, Barbara. As a family.”
Barbara would do anything for Hamilton and Scott. Well, almost anything. What she would not do is spend the afternoon sitting beside James, eating ice cream with fake cheer. She’d been practicing restraint for two years now and had managed to never scream in his face that she couldn’t stand the sight of him, but she could feel righteous anger flaring up in her now. “As a family, James?” she repeated. “We are no longer a family. And I would be so very grateful if you could finally accept that!”
“Barbara …”
She took a step backward, a thunderstorm of anger, panic, and grief brewing inside her.
“Stop it!” she hissed at him. “We are no longer a family. You made sure of that, and now you have to live with the consequences.”
Part I
Chapter 1
Fourteen years earlier
Barbara had always assumed that she was very good with directions. But as she stood in the middle of Stanford’s campus with no idea how to get back to her dorm, she had to admit that she’d been wrong about that, whether she liked it or not. It was the third time that week she’d gotten lost. Even though she’d memorized the campus layout by now, she kept ending up in places she hadn’t meant to go. And the fact that she’d already been late for three of her classes only added to her frustration.
The thought that her professors might think her an unorganized, messy, chaotic student kept her awake at night. She was all too aware of the importance of first impressions. And now she—a girl who’d been a card-carrying perfectionist all through high school—was standing out for being late for class.
It couldn’t have been any worse.
Frustrated, Barbara admitted right then and there that her first week as a college student wasn’t going the way she’d imagined it would. Not at all.