Wedding of the Century

by Patricia McLinn

  He would have remembered Nell and her friend were preparing for the St. Patrick’s Day parade as soon as he’d spotted the calendar on their kitchen wall. “We’ll get you some dinner and get you to Laura Ellen’s in plenty of time.”

  Another exciting night in his social life.

  Maybe Miss Trudi was right. Maybe he should start dating again.

  Annette dropped her purse and duffel on the sofa that pulled out into a bed and looked around at the room Max had built on for her after he’d dropped out of college and came home to raise her.

  Until then she could remember only sharing the one bedroom with her mother while Max slept on an old couch in the main room. That was after their father had deserted his family.

  The house had been a one-room fishing cabin when Anthony Trevetti brought his wife and baby son to Tobias, Wisconsin, from a slum in Boston.

  Annette couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like in the unheated single room with no kitchen or bathroom. By the time she could remember, Max and their father had put together a serviceable bathroom and a kitchen area and added the bedroom. After their father left, Max used his earliest construction skills to add insulation and drywall to what had been open-stud walls.

  Then, after Mama… Max had said neither of them should have to sleep in the living room. So in addition to working overtime, he’d built this room.

  You and me against the world, kid…

  Her own room. A bed and a closet all her own. She had painted the walls sky blue and the trim a barely-there yellow and turned sheets from a yard sale into curtains and matching pillowcases sewn—badly—by hand. The room had made her think of summer all year round. A refuge for a lonely and uncertain girl.

  And then a place to marvel that she was falling in love and Steve said he loved her back. A place to build dreams…then to survive the first hours after they shattered. She blinked hard against hot moisture in her eyes, focusing on the present.

  The walls were painted parchment now with precise white trim. Businesslike shelves and cabinets tidily lined three walls with the fourth wall taken up by the sofa, in a muted plaid of earth tones. Juney’s desk, swept unnaturally clean in her absence, protruded into the room, facing the door.

  Max was asleep, knocked out by the pain pills and perhaps by the pain.

  She should use this time to settle in. To unpack and arrange her belongings so she could hit the floor running in the morning, so she could do what Max needed done and keep him from doing what he shouldn’t.

  She would make the sofa bed, put on the silk pajamas that made her feel pampered, pile pillows and curl up with a book like she used to…when she had been that lonely and uncertain girl. Poor little Annette Trevetti.

  From the second-grade classmate who’d asked in all innocence why she wore the same clothes so often to the teachers who had scurried past the fact that her father was gone and her mother worked too hard to attend events to a smattering of adults who had complimented her for doing so well, considering, she’d learned that even comments meant to be supportive could hurt.

  And the mean-spirited ones could crush…if you let them.

  She hadn’t let them. But she had promised herself she would get away for good as soon as she could.

  Instead, she had lost her head and her heart to a pair of mysterious blue-gray eyes. Eyes like a day with the potential to shift from sun to rain in a heartbeat. She’d dreamed of spending the rest of her life keeping them sunny, even if it meant staying right here in Tobias.

  She picked up her purse and walked out.

  Waiting at the stoplight on his way back from dropping off Nell, Steve idly looked to the left. A figure walking through the shadows in the Video Barn parking lot caught his eye and his heartbeat.

  Annette.

  Didn’t matter that she was swathed in a long black coat turned even inkier by the shadows. He knew. Something about the way she moved.

  A hunter’s instinct for his prey?

  His mouth twisted at that thought. More like a conditioned response he hadn’t quite shaken. Drooling, like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

  She was inside before he pulled into the parking lot. He scanned the aisles between the rows of videos and spotted her on the right side, short of the new releases. The classics section—that figured.

  Passing the new animated video Nell was badgering him to rent, he circled wide, hoping Annette wouldn’t be alerted by the Hi, Steves that trailed him.

  So far so good. He came up behind her left shoulder. She had her head bent, reading the back of a tape. Her hair swung forward, obscuring her face. Didn’t matter. He could have traced that curve from behind her ear, around the corner of her jaw and the point of her chin by memory.

  Dammit.

  He leaned in close to say in a low voice, “Told you it’s a small town.”

  She jolted, audibly sucking in air. Trying to spin away from him, she banged her right elbow against a stack of tapes, knocking down two.

  She adjusted the tapes she held to prepare to corral the runaways, setting the bottom of her coat into swirling motion. But he’d already bent to pick up Ball of Fire and Bad Day at Black Rock. Was this the fates’ idea of a joke?

  With his eyes momentarily at knee level, her open coat revealed her legs encased in black leggings that hugged every curve. Definitely not Bad Day at Black Rock. She used to lament that she didn’t have straight-as-sticks legs, and he’d thought she was nuts. He’d loved her legs. From the appreciative fizz stirring his blood around, that hadn’t changed. Ball of Fire.

  She freed a hand from the tapes and used it to overlap one side of the coat’s bottom over the other. Which meant there was no reason not to stand, so he did.

  “Did you want to look at these?”

  “Thank you, no. You may put them away.”

  He used to be able to read every nuance of what she felt from hearing her say one word, one syllable. His inability to decipher that now was more than being out of practice. Just as at the hospital, her tone gave nothing away. Totally unlike the voice he remembered, covering the emotional scale like the run of keys on a piano, from the depths to the heights. Each one beautiful and distinct.

  When he turned back, she had moved two steps away. Not enough to spell retreat, yet enough to establish distance and to let him simply walk away.

  The way she had?

  Hell no, he wasn’t a runner.

  “Nice to see you getting reacquainted with Tobias, Annette.”

  “It can’t be considered reacquainted, since this place didn’t exist when I last lived here.” Her voice had that same cool dignity she’d used for their exchanges at the hospital, like she was talking from behind frozen glass.

  “I guess not,” he said easily. “Lots of things have changed since then. So what are you doing here?”

  She cut him a look. Could that be humor lurking? He used to love to make her laugh, to lift the sorrows from her eyes. “Oddly enough, I’m here to pick up videos.”

  “You always did like movies.”

  Her mouth tightened. “I thought Max might like to watch some movies.”

  He tipped the top video down enough to read the title. Pride and Prejudice. “Either I don’t know Max very well or he must be really bored.”

  She backed up, a definite retreat. Color flowed into her cheeks. Her facial muscles didn’t change, but she couldn’t control the color or hide it behind glass.

  “You don’t know Max at all.” He’d bet Tobias’s next fiscal year’s budget that those words had sounded less certain than she would have liked. “But this one is for me. Max is asleep. The doctor gave him painkillers for the next few days.”

  “So, you’re bored. Back in town less than a day, and you’re bored.” That came out as more of an accusation than he’d intended.

  “Max is supposed to take it easy for the next week. I’m stocking up.”

  She looked and sounded assured. His unexpected arrival had knocked her off balance, but the edge of hi
s accusation somehow gave her power. He’d have to remember that if he was going to… What? What was it he was after? Oh, yeah, figure out why the hell she was so set on getting out of town fast. Nothing else.

  “So you’re going to stick around for a while?”

  “As I said at the hospital, as long as Max needs me.”

  “People change their minds…about sticking around, I mean.”

  A bolt of light and fire flashed across her eyes. It should have broken that damned frozen glass from the inside, but she reined it in immediately.

  “When they’re given a reason, they do. Max has never given me a reason not to trust him completely.”

  Giving him no time to respond, Annette walked away, returning a video to its rack on her way toward the checkout lines.

  After a quick detour to pick up that animated video for Nell, he followed.

  Annette’s shoulders tightened under the black coat as he came up behind her. Using his elbow, he gently nudged her toward the checkout on the right, the one with the teenage clerk. Her momentum carried her two steps in that direction before she stopped in the open area between the lines.

  “I’m going in the other line.”

  He shifted his weight to partially block her. “I wouldn’t advise that.”

  “The other line is shorter, and I don’t want your advice.”

  He ignored the second part. “Shorter, yes, but there’s a catch.” He waited until she met his eyes. The chili he’d had for dinner chose that moment to somehow lodge in the center of his chest. The stuff hadn’t even been that hot. “Recognize the clerk on that shorter line?”

  She looked at him another beat, then glanced toward the white-haired clerk. “Miriam something. She worked in the front office at the high school.”

  “Miriam Jenkins,” he said, standing close just so they wouldn’t be overheard. “She’s retired from there now. She works here to help the pension, but it also supplements her store of knowledge of what’s going on in Tobias. Forget the Tobias Record, Miriam’s the real source of news around the county. How many questions do you feel like answering—or avoiding—tonight?”

  She gave a soft tsk of irritation. “Fine. I’ll stay in this line, but there’s no reason for you to.”

  “You kidding? After being seen talking with you in public? I don’t want to be here all night answering her questions, either.”

  “You could have avoided the whole problem by not talking to me tonight.”

  “Oh, I think the problem started long before tonight.”

  Before she turned away, he saw color push up her throat and that hunted look cross her face again.

  Chapter Three

  “Yes, but is the roofing at least R-eleven? What material is he going to use for the roof?” asked the man behind the permits office counter at Town Hall.

  “Bubble gum and straw,” Annette muttered. The morning was not going well.

  Max had been beyond cranky when she’d left. She didn’t know if it was the result of pain or concern about his injury’s effect on his business or lack of sleep or all three. She’d awakened several times last night, and each time she’d heard him moving around the house, so he clearly had even less sleep than she did.

  As for her wakefulness, being in an unfamiliar bed and in a once-familiar room that was no longer hers was bound to produce a restless night.

  Max had said he had to get this permit application in this morning. He’d delayed a day because of his wrist and he didn’t want the company’s reputation sliding because he had a little pain.

  A little pain, a cut on his head, a cast on his right arm, doctor’s orders to take it easy and potential permanent nerve damage if he messed up his recovery. He hadn’t taken her listing those reminders well, lecturing her about how running a company was all about word of mouth, and complaints spread three times faster than compliments. He’d already had client calls that had mixed sympathy for his injury with anxiety. He had to make sure the work stayed on schedule as much as he could, and that started with getting this permit application in. Today.

  She’d had to be firm—and a little sneaky. Holding on to the keys to his truck yesterday had shown great foresight, since one of his workers had delivered the truck last night.

  She’d assured him she could do whatever he needed doing. How was she supposed to know that would require a stint in purgatory, otherwise known as the permits office, with Trent Lipinsky as the gatekeeper?

  She had already called Max once on her cell phone—and woken him from a nap. She wasn’t going to call him again. Instead, she’d deflected Lipinsky’s picayune demands by writing down the detailed requests to relay to Max. She rubbed the spot between her brows that announced an impending headache.

  “I’ve given you the dimensions, along with the location, the contractor’s license number, the sales tax, the bonding company and the scope of work. Does the specific roof material matter at this point? Since this is only the application, and we will, of course, be providing all the details with the completed paperwork. I’ll write it down on my list, and Max will know all the answers. When I bring back all the documentation you’ve so kindly enumerated and explained—” in tedious detail “—I’ll have his answers.”

  She smiled at him. He smiled broadly in return.

  “You know, Ms. Trevetti, I really should have all the details, but for you—”

  “Is there a problem here?” The voice came from behind her.

  At one point during last night’s wakefulness, she’d decided to put the time to good use by preparing herself for running into Steve again. She’d tried. Memories kept hijacking her thoughts—because she was tired and worried about Max. Questions about why Steve had told Max about his impending marriage or why he’d wanted to talk to her after Lily’s death were moot. Totally hypothetical, because they couldn’t change what happened, and that was that.

  Besides, she’d told the few stars winking through a dark curtain of blue spruce trees beyond her bedroom window, what were the chances that she would see Steve a third time so soon?

  So much for her ability as a psychic.

  “No, no problem, Mr. Corbett. I was just explaining to this lady how to apply for a building permit.”

  “Really?” It was Steve at his most controlled. From Lipinsky’s bland expression he didn’t realize the ice under his feet had become mighty thin. “I can’t imagine Max Trevetti sending his sister without all the customary information needed to get the permit application in. Does Max strike you as someone who would suddenly forget what was needed for a routine application?”

  “I, uh—”

  “I’m handling this, Steve.” She faced him. His protectiveness was seven years out of date. “There is no problem.”

  Without moving his head, he shifted his eyes to her.

  “Glad to hear there’s no problem.” His face gave nothing away. He turned to the clerk. “So this permit application is all ready to go?”

  “There’s still the fee.”

  “Yes, here’s the check.” She handed it over, not sorry to turn her back on Steve.

  Trent looked at it. “Oh. Sorry, Ms. Trevetti, but there’s the water and sewer fee. That’s not included in this.”

  Max had said that was paid at a later stage. In other circumstances she would have argued. But that would prolong having Steve Corbett stand behind her like he thought he was some six-foot-tall guardian angel.

  “How much?” She shifted her purse to reach for her checkbook.

  “I’m sure we can—”

  She spun to face Steve. By clenching her teeth she kept her words too low and even for the clerk to hear. “I do not need you charging in and slashing around with the great sword of your name.”

  Catching only the start of his eyebrows rising, and not waiting for his answer or letting herself consider that would-be guardian angels should not wear shirts with seaming across the shoulders like guidelines for the caressing hands of a lover, she turned to the clerk, opening he
r checkbook with a snap and grabbing the pen chained to the countertop.

  “How much.”

  “One hundred and fifty dollars, but—”

  “Do I make it out to the county or the town?”

  “I’m sorry, we don’t accept personal checks from out of state.”

  She thought she heard a sound from behind her, and the clerk’s eyes flicked to where Steve still stood.

  She closed her checkbook and pinned the clerk with her don’t-tread-on-me look. “I’ll be right back. And when I return, I expect you to have a receipt prepared, the rest of this paperwork in order and no additions, glitches or delays. Nothing lost. Nothing missing. Not oh, one more thing. The application done and in the system.”

  She didn’t wait for his answer. She turned, circling wide of Steve, and went out the door into the main hallway, heading for the exit.

  He caught up with her on the outside steps leading to Hill Street.

  At least his following her meant he wasn’t back there throwing his weight around with Lipinsky, supposedly on her behalf.

  “Annette—”

  She had been away long enough that it took her a moment to locate the Bank of Tobias. She spotted the sign to her left and angled down the town hall steps. Her unwanted escort easily kept pace. “Please go away.”

  “Part of my job.”

  “Harassing former residents?” He reached to take her elbow as they crossed the street. She avoided the touch by speeding up slightly.

  “Keeping tabs on whether people have satisfying interaction with Tobias bureaucracy. I had a report Lipinsky was stringing someone along. That’s why I came down.”

  “Well, check me off as a satisfied customer and close the file.”

  “Ah, but it wasn’t your satisfaction I was concerned about. It was mine.”

  That wasn’t true. He’d always been exquisitely, tormentingly, soul-shatteringly concerned with her satisfaction.

  Let me, Annette. Touching her, his long fingers so gentle, so persistent…

  She stutter-stepped, and the toe of her shoe caught the curb.