*
* *
Abby was still shaken by Trace's kiss when she waved goodbye
to him, then walked toward the inn. Even her stupid knees were weak, which was
ridiculous.
"Interesting," Jess called out from the porch. "I come home and
find two of the world's toughest taskmasters missing. Lo and behold, I discover
they've been cavorting on the beach."
"There was no cavorting," Abby said sharply.
She intended to walk right past her sister and avoid any more of her insightful
observations, but Jess stood up and followed her inside.
"So, what's going on with you and Trace?" Jess asked, leaning against
the counter as Abby tried to pour herself a glass of iced tea with hands that
remained unsteady.
"Nothing," Abby said, then took a long gulp of the cold liquid,
hoping it would cool her overheated libido. It didn't help. Nor did it buy her
much time.
"Didn't look that way to me. The two of you were in quite a lip-lock on
the beach. From where I was standing it looked as if steam was rising."
Abby stared at her in shock. "You spied on us?"
"I most certainly did not spy. I went looking for you. When I got to the
beach, I saw you and turned right straight around and came back to the porch to
wait." She grinned. "I thought it would be fun to see how you tried
to explain what happened."
"I'm delighted you find me so amusing."
"Not you," Jess corrected. "The situation. It feels a whole lot
like that summer ten years ago when the two of you were sneaking around. You
were delusional then, too. You didn't think anyone knew what was going on.
Heck, I was barely twelve and I got it. You two were crazy about each other.
Still are, from what I've observed." She nudged Abby in the ribs. "I
think it's sweet."
"It is
not
sweet. It is just as doomed now as it was back
then."
"Why? I mean, I sort of get why you left then. You were following a dream,
though why you thought working yourself to death was more important than a man
like Trace is beyond me. But that was then. You're successful now. You can call
your own shots. If you want Trace in your life, there's nothing to stop
you."
Abby sighed and pulled out a chair at the table. Jess made a future with Trace
sound so reasonable, so possible, but she knew better. "Come on, Jess, you
know it's not that easy. Look how badly I messed up my marriage to Wes, and
he's probably the most understanding, undemanding man on the face of the earth.
No man is going to put up with the kind of hours I work, the kind of stress I
bring home with me at the end of the day."
"Then cut back," Jess said. "Make some adjustments."
"It's not that kind of job. The markets move too quickly. If I'm off my
game, I could put someone's life savings in jeopardy."
"And you honestly enjoy working in that kind of pressure cooker?"
Abby nodded. "Most of the time I love it."
"You said most of the time. What about the rest?"
"Then I want what every woman wants—a home, a family, a man to share my
life with," she admitted, then added, "I just don't see how I can
have that."
"You're an O'Brien," Jess reminded her. "You can have anything
you set your mind to. Isn't that what Gram and Mick taught us?"
"They did, but Dad also showed us that it can come with a price. Success
cost him his relationship with Mom. Maybe some O'Briens simply aren't meant to
have it all."
Jess frowned at her. "What does Mom have to say about your fatalistic
attitude? Or is she the one responsible for it?"
Abby regarded her with surprise. "Why would you think Mom's influenced me
about relationships?"
"Can you honestly tell me she hasn't? You're the only one of us she has to
talk to, so she's probably filled your head with every bitter recrimination she
has about Dad."
"No more than you have," Abby said mildly.
Jess winced as the barb hit home. "You're probably right. I do have my
issues with Dad." She hesitated, then asked, "Seriously, has Mom ever
opened up to you about what happened back then?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Abby said. "Dad was away too much. She
couldn't take it anymore."
"But she didn't just leave him, she abandoned us, too," Jess
protested. "We were her kids. We hadn't done anything to deserve
that."
Abby frowned, remembering the conversation she'd had with her mother on the day
Megan had walked out, her promise to come back for them. "No, and she
always meant for us to come to New York to live with her."
"Then what happened?" Jess asked. "Why was it she only came to
visit when the mood struck her?"
"I don't know," Abby admitted. The subject was so touchy, she'd left
it alone. For her it was enough that Megan was back in her life, but she
understood why not having an answer to that question ate away at Jess.
"Oh, well," Jess said. "We all survived. That's what counts,
isn't it?"
Her attempt to make light of her pain didn't work. Abby was about to call her
on it, but Jess waved her off.
"Forget it. We're getting away from my point. You're talking yourself out
of something with Trace that could be really good. You're not even trying for
it. It seems to me that's just plain wrong."
Abby couldn't really deny that Jess had pegged her exactly right. She was being
fatalistic. Experience had taught her that she wasn't cut out for marriage.
Since she didn't enjoy failure, she saw no reason to put herself in that
position again, not even with Trace stirring her hormones into a frenzy,
reminding her of how good they'd once been together.
She set down her empty glass and stood up. "Let's table this
discussion," she said. "I have work to do and so do you."
Jess gave her a disappointed look, then shrugged. "Whatever. It's your
life."
"Yes, it is."
But as she went back into the office and dug into the paperwork still piled
high on the desk, she couldn't help questioning whether the choices she'd been
making all these years, the priorities she'd set, were as good as she'd always
believed them to be. Maybe, like her father, she was losing more than she had
gained. She wondered if Megan ever felt that way about her decision to walk
away from her family.
*
* *
Carrie and Caitlyn were practically bouncing up and down
with excitement on Saturday morning as they awaited their father's arrival.
"How much longer, Mommy?" Carrie demanded. "I thought he'd be
here by now."
Abby sighed. "It shouldn't be much longer. He called a few minutes ago and
said he was almost to Chesapeake Shores."
"I see him, I see him!" Caitlyn exclaimed, pointing toward a cloud of
dust billowing along the distant road.
"I see him, too!" Carrie shouted, racing down the steps and heading
for the driveway.
"Wait here," Abby commanded. "You're not to go into the driveway
until he's parked the car. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Caitlyn said, though she stayed right at the edge of
the grass, Carrie bouncing impatiently beside her.
As soon as Wes's rental car had pulled to a stop, they tore around to the
driver's side and yanked open the door. He barely had time to untangle himself
from the seat belt before they were both trying to leap into his arms.
Despite the flight and the drive, he looked as if he'd just stepped out of an
ad in
Forbes,
featuring clothes for the wealthy businessman at leisure.
Even on a weekend, Wesley Walker Winters looked every inch the executive he
was, from his styled brown hair to his designer sports clothes and Italian
loafers.
Unlike Abby, he'd inherited his place in the business world, running a
conglomerate founded by his grandfather, then handed down to his father. That
gave him the luxury and flexibility to make his own schedule. Though he worked
hard, he had neither Abby's ambition nor her workaholic tendencies. His
priorities, her mother had been quick to point out, were perfectly in order. He
was that rarest of men, one who put his wife and children first. He'd told her
repeatedly that he understood her drive, respected her for it. He just hadn't
been able to live with it.
"Daddy, Daddy, me and Carrie had the measles," Caitlyn announced
excitedly.
"I had the most spots," Carrie informed him.
Wes's gaze shot to Abby, suggesting they would have a conversation later about
her failure to mention the brief illness. For now, oblivious to his expensive,
neatly pressed slacks, he knelt down in the grass and turned their faces from
side to side. "No spots now. You must be well again."
"I was well first," Carrie bragged.
He laughed. "I'm just glad you're both well now, so we can do a bunch of
fun stuff this weekend."
"Like what?" Caitlyn asked.
"I wanna go for ice cream," Carrie said at once.
Caitlyn immediately scowled at her. "No, that's what we're doing with Mr.
Riley, remember?"
"But if Daddy buys us ice cream, we get to have it twice," Carrie
countered.
"No!" Caitlyn repeated emphatically. "Mr. Riley said he'd take
us, and I'm going with him."
Wes looked bewildered by the argument. Again, he glanced in Abby's direction,
seeking an explanation.
"Trace Riley is an old family friend, who happened to stop by when the
girls first got sick," she told him. "He made a deal with them that
they could have ice cream at Sally's when they were over the measles."
"All we can eat," Carrie said excitedly.
"Well, I don't know about that," Wes said.
For the first time since the argument began, Carrie backed down, clearly
sensing that her father might put a damper on that notion. "You can take
us for pizza," she said quickly. "We haven't had any since we came
here."
"Yes!" Caitlyn said eagerly. "Please, Daddy."
"Pizza it is," he agreed. "Just let me put my things inside and
speak to your mother for a minute, and then we'll go into town."
Abby followed him inside, then showed him to a room just down the hall from the
girls. When she would have made a hasty exit, he stopped her.
"Why would you allow some man to bribe the girls with all the ice cream
they can eat?"
She frowned at the criticism. "It's not as if they're going to stuff
themselves until they get sick," she said. "It's the idea that
there's no limit that matters. Come on, Wes. You know them. Their eyes are
always bigger than their stomachs. They'll order three scoops, eat one like
always and that'll be it."
He still didn't look convinced, but he finally nodded. "Okay, I suppose
you're right. But you do know this man, don't you? You wouldn't let them go off
with him otherwise."
"Of course I wouldn't let them go with a stranger. Besides, I have every
intention of going with them. You're getting worked up over nothing."
"Probably so," he admitted. "I'm sure it's because it's been
three weeks since I've seen them. So much changes in that amount of time, and I
hate missing any of it. Then to have them going on and on about some man I've
never heard of—It threw me, I guess. I'm sorry. You know I trust your
judgment."
He looked so chagrined that on impulse she gave him a hug. "Well, they're
all yours now. Go off and enjoy yourselves. Gram's at church doing flowers for
tomorrow's services right now, but she'll be back soon and she'll be around if
you need a break."
"Where will you be?"
"I'm helping Jess with something."
He immediately looked suspicious. "What's your sister gotten herself into
now? She's the reason you're down here, isn't she? I should have guessed as
much."
"Let's not talk about this now. If you really want to know, I'll tell you
after the kids are in bed tonight."
For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to pursue it, but he finally backed
down. "Okay, then. I'll see you later."
Knowing the kind of discussion that was likely to ensue when she explained what
was going on with Jess and the inn, Abby couldn't honestly say she was looking
forward to it.
*
* *
Trace had been working on a design all morning, and by
lunchtime he was in need of a break and a meal. Wearing an old pair of jeans
and a faded Chesapeake Shores T-shirt that had seen better days, he decided to
run to the small, casual pizza shop around the corner and across from the beach
to grab a quick lunch. During the summer he'd been a lifeguard, he'd eaten
there nearly every day. Sometimes he'd crossed the road on his break to grab a
couple slices of pizza. On other days, Abby would pick up subs from the same
place and bring them to the beach, where they'd eat lunch together.
He'd just turned the corner onto Shore Road when he spotted Carrie and Caitlyn
coming his way. They saw him at the same time and jerked free from the man
walking with them, a man he recognized at once as the same one he'd seen with
Abby in New York all those years ago. He'd never forgotten the guy's chiseled
good looks and designer attire. He might be dressed more casually today, but
the look still shouted money and aristocratic breeding.
"Mr. Riley," Carrie shouted, running toward him. "We're going
for pizza. Where are you going?"
"As a matter of fact, I'm going for pizza myself," he said. He looked
up into the wary gray eyes of the man who had to be their father and Abby's
ex-husband. "I'm Trace Riley, a friend of Abby's," he said, holding
out his hand.
"Wes Winters," he said curtly, his handshake solid but perfunctory.
"The girls mentioned you, something about a promise of ice cream."
Trace nodded. "We made a deal when they were sick."
"And now we're all well," Carrie told him.
"Then I'll have to pay up one day next week."
"You could have pizza with us now," Caitlyn said shyly.
"Not today, kiddo. I don't want to intrude on your time with your dad.
Besides, I need to get back to work."
Caitlyn studied him curiously. "You don't look like you usually do when
you work."
Trace laughed. "Very observant. Today I'm not working at the bank. I'm
doing my other job."
"What would that be?" Wes inquired, studying him as if he'd just
crawled off one of the crabbing boats. There was a world of disdain in the
man's expression. He probably wore Armani to barbecue steaks, assuming he
actually knew how to do that in the first place.
"I'm a graphic designer," Trace said, which apparently didn't do a
thing to change Wes's obviously low opinion of him. He couldn't resist adding,
"Right now I'm working on something for Astor Pharmaceuticals."
For the first time, Wes's expression shifted slightly. "Good
company," he said grudgingly. "I know Steve Astor. We grew up
together, in fact."
"Really? He and I were in business school together at Harvard."
The last of Wes's disdain seemed to vanish. "Good school. I went to Yale
myself."
"An equally good school," Trace said, barely able to contain a grin.
Check and checkmate, apparently. There was nothing like marking turf to
energize a man.
"How do you know Abby?" Wes asked, an oddly jealous edge to his voice
for a man who'd let her get away.
"We both grew up here," Trace said, then couldn't resist adding,
"We used to date."
Wes's expression froze. "I see."
"Well, I'll leave you guys to your lunch," Trace said. "I'm
going to pick up a takeout order at the counter."
He was about to walk away when Caitlyn tugged on his hand. He looked down into
her upturned face.
"Don't forget next week," she whispered.
"Not a chance," he promised. "Your mom and I will figure out a
day."
"Come on, girls. Let's grab that empty table," Wes said firmly.
Trace watched the three of them as they settled down at the table. He could
hear them bickering over toppings as he placed his own order. He had to admit
that despite his own instinctive dislike of the man Abby had married, Wes
seemed like a great dad. He was endlessly patient with them. Nope, he couldn't
be faulted on that front.
Still, any man who willingly walked away from Abby clearly didn't have much
sense. He counted himself among them, too, so he ought to know. He might not
have done the walking, but he sure as heck hadn't done what he should to stop
her from going. And in hindsight, he could honestly say now that had been just
as stupid.