“I can’t talk you into a nice drive?” Emma put on her most cajoling smile, the one she’d used to get her way with him as a kid.
“Nope. Can’t harangue my patients on good cardiovascular habits and then not practice what I preach.”
“The things I put myself through to spend time with my grandfather,” Emma grumbled.
Felix gave a nod of satisfaction. “Be good for you. And just ’cause half the ride’s up hill, don’t think you’re going to get away with not telling me what in Sam hill’s going on with you and the Tubb boy.”
* * *
EMMA SCATTERED GRAIN to the fat pullets in the fenced-in run and watched her grandfather and Ed Taylor talk from the corner of her eye. Ed was tall and stooped and terribly thin. Emma didn’t think he looked well, at all. From the way her grandfather was shaking his finger under Ed’s nose, she suspected he was voicing the same opinion.
Finally Felix threw up his arms and shoved some bottles of pill samples into Ed’s reluctant hands. He snapped the lid of his old-fashioned black bag shut, settled it firmly in the basket of his ancient and highly prized Schwinn Corvette and pedaled over to where Emma was standing.
“Let’s go,” he said, his brow creased in a frown. “That damned stubborn fool won’t listen to a word I say. He’s not taking care of himself and not getting enough to eat, but he’s too damned bullheaded to get any help from the county or his daughter. Something’s wrong there, too. She’s always been good as gold at helping the old coot out, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her in months.”
Her grandfather’s gruff exterior hid a heart of gold, but he would deny it to the end and act even more cantankerous and bad-tempered if she insisted it was true. He’d developed his tough outer shell, Emma was convinced, to protect himself from feeling too much of his patients’ pain over the years, and it was second nature to him now. Her grandmother had seen through the ploy from the beginning and, Emma suspected, so had most of his patients over a half century of practice.
They rode in silence toward the village. The sun had climbed higher into the sky, but the morning was still pleasantly cool. Long wisps of clouds arched across the sky from low on the horizon—the weather change Maureen had spoken of. A cold front was coming to blow away the last of the warm Indian summer weather and usher in the beginning of a long, cold New England winter.
There was almost no traffic on the side road they were traveling. A few grasshoppers chirped in the dry grass that edged the roadway, and a couple of woolly worm caterpillars were making their way across the pavement, one brown, one the color of melted vanilla ice cream. Emma could never remember if it was dark for a hard winter or light. Regardless of which meant what, she did her best not to squish them as she rode by.
Black and white cows grazed in a nearby pasture, raising their heads to watch the humans pass before going back to their leisurely meal. It was so quiet Emma could hear a dog bark in its kennel at the vet’s farm over a mile away. They stopped on the crest of the hill leading into town, and her grandfather leaned his bicycle against the remnants of a stone fence, then settled himself on the lichen-covered boulders beside it and pulled his ball cap low over his eyes. “Damned proud old fool.” Felix muttered.
“Do you mean Ed Taylor?”
He took a deep breath. “He’s going to neglect himself right into his grave.” Emma looked over her shoulder at the run-down farm they’d just left. The only things that had been well cared for, she thought, were the chickens she’d been feeding.
“I’m too damned old for this, Emma Martha. I can’t take on the world’s problems anymore.”
Emma remained astride her bike, her feet braced in the gravel. “You shouldn’t have to, Granddad. You’ve looked after other people for most of your life. It’s time you concentrated on you and Nana for a change.”
He sighed. “Ed Taylor’s as stubborn as I am, so I might as well stop trying to change him now. Don’t worry about me and your grandmother, though. I’ve been grousing about my patients since Eisenhower was in office, and your grandmother’s been listening to me do it for almost as long. Enough of complaining about what can’t be changed. We’ll start discussing you now,” the crafty old man replied. “Spill it, Emma. What’s going on between you and the Tubb boy? And while you’re at it, what’s this about changes in your job, too?”
Emma folded her arms and leaned on the handlebars of her grandmother’s shiny red three-speed. She remembered the Christmas her grandfather had presented it to his wife, wrapped in a glittering silver bow. It was just after they’d moved to the tiny Berkshire village. They were going to spend their retirement years tooling around the countryside. And they still did, for short rides in warm weather. Emma had always loved spending Christmas with her grandparents, no matter where they were, but most especially since they’d made their home in Cooper’s Corner.
“I’ll start with the good news. My show’s being picked up for syndication at the first of the year. One hundred stations, good markets, close to a million listeners and the potential, someday, to grow the show to five times that many. It’s not the big time yet, but it’s a good start.”
“I’m proud of you. I don’t always agree with what you tell your callers. Entirely too much sleeping around and such goes on these days. But for the most part I have to say it’s good advice.”
“First, do no harm,” Emma said, quoting from the Hippocratic oath.
“Exactly. And I don’t doubt you’ll be as big as Limbaugh someday. I hope I live to see it.”
“I hope you live forever, Granddad.”
“Don’t know about that. Not as appealing a notion as it was thirty years ago.” He plucked a stem of grass and inspected it closely before putting it between his teeth. “So that’s the good news. Now for the bad. And that involves Daryl, does it?”
“Yes. I imagine Nana gave you the particulars.”
“She told me you caught the young fool with another woman, or some such.” A gust of wind, stronger than the light, steady breeze that had followed them into town, began sighing through the meadow and roadside grasses, kicking up dust as it passed, attempting to take Felix’s Red Sox cap with it. He settled it more firmly on his head and fixed Emma with a steely glare.
“Yes, and for some reason I don’t believe it was only a business dinner. I have no proof...except what’s in my heart.”
“A most unreliable organ at times.”
A crow winged past, cawing raucously, and the call echoed back and forth among the hills. Emma watched the big black bird for a moment, then returned her gaze to her grandfather’s face. “I can’t help how I feel.”
“He’s given you an explanation for his being with her?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t believe him.” The more she said it, the more convinced she was. But it was still hard for her to voice her argument to others. In her heart of hearts she knew Daryl had been unfaithful. She just didn’t know what to do about it.
“So the wheels have come off the wagon, eh? I wondered how long it would take you to come to your senses.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, just that Lori and Burt Tubb spoiled that boy rotten. I can’t say as how I’ve got a lot of respect for him.”
“Why didn’t you say so before, Granddad? I was planning to marry him.” She caught herself with a start, and her heart thumped a little faster in her chest. She hadn’t hesitated a moment in using the past tense to describe their relationship.
Felix gave a little nod, letting her know he’d caught the certainty in her voice, too. “Wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I was relying on your good judgment to rein you in before it was too late. And to tell the truth, I wasn’t looking forward to being the heavy unless I didn’t have a choice. Putting my opinion aside, what
proof do you have that he’s lying to you?”
“That’s the million-dollar question. All the proof I have is gut instinct, woman’s intuition, call it what you will....” She let the sentence fade away. She’d studiously avoided trying to make any connection with Blake Weston and the woman who’d betrayed him.
“And what?” her canny old grandfather demanded.
“It’s just coincidence. I doubt there’s even a connection, but still—”
“I hate riddles,” Felix said flatly. “Spell it out, girl.”
“You remember the man I brought to the house Saturday morning? The one with the hangover?”
“The Marine.”
“Yes. His hangover was caused by a broken heart. He found the woman he’d been involved with naked in his living room. With their Realtor.”
“And you jumped to the conclusion that the man was Daryl?”
“Not really,” Emma said doubtfully. “Not right away. But the woman’s name was Heather. Daryl said the client he’d been with was named Heather, when he finally admitted he’d been with a woman at all,” she added. “And he was meeting her because the deal he’d been working on to sell the McGillicuddy place to her and her significant other was going sour—”
“And this Blake Weston found his way to Cooper’s Corner because he wanted to buy property in the area,” Felix finished for her. “Well, I’ll be damned. If it turns out to be true, it’s bigger odds than hitting the lottery. No wonder Tubb thought he could get away with it.”
“So you think he was unfaithful, too?”
“Let’s just say I hear things around town. Nothing I’d ever repeat. But he was noted for being a ladies’ man before he met you.”
“I wish you’d told me this last summer.”
“Hey. You’re my granddaughter. My pride and joy. I wanted to think young Tubb was smart enough to know he’d captured a real prize. But seems he’s still thinking with his—never mind.”
“His penis, Granddad?”
“Hell’s bells, girl. If I’d wanted to say the word, I would have.”
Emma laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “Granddad, you’re a doctor. I’m a thirty-year-old woman. I’ve heard the word before.”
Felix ignored her little joke and scowled even harder. “If you want my opinion straight up and unvarnished—”
“Do you ever give it any other way?” Emma said, swallowing her smile.
”Course not. Plain and simple—dump him. As for you ending up at Twin Oaks on the same day as the man who’s the other injured party... Well, I guess there have been stranger things happen.”
“Not to me.”
Felix rose stiffly, using a hand on the old stone fence to lever himself upward. “Did you ever think it might be meant to be?” He waited a moment, but she didn’t answer. She couldn’t, because she was remembering Blake Weston’s mouth on hers, and the memory left her breathless and slightly addled. Meant to be. That kiss had felt as if it were meant to be. “Better get moving or I’ll stiffen up so bad I won’t be able to ride.” Felix righted the bike and settled heavily onto the seat.
“What do I do next?” Emma said, hearing the note of desperation in her voice.
“I just told you. Dump him.”
“It sounds so final that way.”
“It is final.”
“But I thought—”
“You thought you loved him.”
“Yes.” She sighed.
“You don’t look heartbroken to me. You look mad.”
Emma couldn’t help herself. She laughed, a sound filled with longing and sadness, not joy. “You know, I came to that same conclusion.”
“Good. Then move out of the inn and come stay with us.”
She laughed again. “I’m doing just that.”
“Good. Can’t say as I’ve ever approved of you shacking up with him like that.”
“But—”
“You thought it was love at first sight? And it would last for fifty years or more like your grandmother and me?”
“Yes. At least I let myself believe it was.”
“It was just lust. Hormones. Chemistry. Whatever you call it these days. When the real thing comes along, you’ll know.”
A picture of Blake Weston as he’d looked yesterday on the deck at Twin Oaks filled her thoughts before she could stop it. She pushed the image into the corner of her mind and slammed the door before another memory of the kiss could follow on its heels. She wasn’t even free of her commitment to Daryl yet, and already she was fixating on another man. What was wrong with her?
Her silence alerted her grandfather, but for the wrong reason. “You want to give him one more chance?” Felix sounded incredulous. He frowned so hard his eyebrows disappeared under his ball cap.
“I need to find out the truth. For my own peace of mind.” How could she go on giving advice to hundreds, even thousands of other women if she was wrong about this? She’d never trust herself again. If she lost confidence in her instincts, she’d begin to second-guess every word that came out of her mouth. And soon, she had no doubt, the words would dry up altogether. She would have ended not only her engagement but possibly her career.
Felix pushed off on his bike, his words coming to her as he gained speed on the downhill slope. “If you want the truth, don’t hold your breath that Daryl will all of a sudden turn out to be a hero. It doesn’t happen that way. Your best plan might be to talk to that devil dog, Weston. I’ll bet he’s got it all figured out.”
* * *
BLAKE DIDN’T FEEL as if he’d figured anything out, even after a night of tossing and turning. He’d finally fallen asleep as dawn was beginning to lighten the eastern sky. By the time he awoke, groggy and slow, it was ten o’clock and the dining room was empty. He refused Clint’s offer of griddle cakes and ham, settled for coffee, toast and juice and then headed outside to clear his head.
Emma’s car wasn’t in her parking place. He hadn’t expected it to be. He’d damned near scared her off last night. But then, he could hardly believe it himself. Less than a week ago he’d considered himself committed to Heather. It may not have been a match made in heaven, but he had figured it would work. Now all he could think about was the copper-haired, sharp-tongued beauty who was every bit as captivating in the flesh as she was on the radio.
But Emma, stubborn and loyal as he had already come to believe she was, clearly still considered herself committed to Daryl Tubb, at least for the time being. At least until she figured out for herself what a jerk he was.
That Blake could make that happen by uttering one simple, declarative sentence had been what kept him awake all night.
His churning thoughts had carried him across the footbridge and into town. He found himself two doors down from the diner. Parked in front of the clapboard building was a dark green car with a Berkshire Realty sign affixed to the door. Daryl Tubb was entering the restaurant, briefcase in one hand, cell phone in the other. It wasn’t such an amazing circumstance, since Clint had told him Daryl’s parents owned the place.
Blake hadn’t spoken to Daryl since the night he’d thrown him out of his apartment. He didn’t much want to see him now, except for one reason. Emma.
F. Blake Weston had decided to play the knight in shining armor and give the two-timing SOB one more chance to win back his lady love.
Or, more precisely, he hoped, give the bastard enough rope to hang himself.
Blake stepped into the diner and back into his parents’ childhood. Red vinyl, black and white tile floor and gleaming chrome trim. Little signs of wear and tear and a few dents and nicks told him that Tubb’s Café wasn’t the product of some designer’s interpretation of a by-gone day, but the real thing. A busy café whose owners hadn’t worried about fashion’s decrees through the years, but concentrated on provi
ding good food for loyal customers. Too bad he wasn’t here for the cider doughnuts Emma loved, piled up on a glass-topped cake stand, or even the meat loaf special.
He gave the big jukebox along the wall an appreciative glance, then zeroed in on the man seating himself at a table near the back of the long, narrow room. It was too early for the lunch crowd, so they were alone except for the plump woman stirring a soup pot on the stove and a burly, bald-headed man polishing glassware behind the bar along the back wall of the dining room.
The sun was behind Blake, shining through the big plate glass window, and Daryl gave him only a cursory glance before going back to the paperwork he’d just finished spreading out before him on the table. It wasn’t until Blake stopped directly in front of him that Daryl looked up, blinking. Recognition was followed swiftly by alarm.
“Where the hell did you come from?” Daryl pushed his chair from the table and looked around, as though seeking a means of escape. Blake took grim satisfaction in the reaction. He leaned both hands on the table, bringing his nose within six inches of the other man’s.
“I’m staying at Twin Oaks.” Outright fear replaced the flicker of alarm Blake had glimpsed in Daryl’s eyes. “We need to talk. We can do it here in front of your parents, or we can go someplace more private. It’s up to you.”
“The office.” He motioned to a narrow hallway that ran between the back of the bar and the small kitchen. “Dad, I need to use the office for a few minutes to speak with my client. Is that okay?”
“Sure, son. Take your time.” The bald man went on polishing glasses with a snowy white bar towel, but the look he gave Blake was long and considering.
“Thanks, Dad.”
Blake followed the younger man into the office, which evidently doubled as a storeroom. Metal shelving stocked with restaurant-size cans, and bottles lined the walls. A cluttered desk was wedged between the shelving, facing a wall filled with handwritten notes, receipts and invoices held in place with colored pushpins. Daryl didn’t make the mistake of sitting in the only chair, giving Blake the advantage of height as well as bulk; instead, he leaned against the desk and folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t imagine you want to talk about the McGillicuddy place,” Daryl said.
Strangers When We Meet Page 9
