*
* *
Jess had spent several days back in April interviewing
potential chefs for the inn and had finally found the perfect candidate. Gail
Chambers had solid credentials, despite only being in her late twenties. She'd
been a sous-chef in several excellent restaurants on Maryland's Eastern Shore,
but was eager to run her own kitchen. She was also recently married to a man
with two children, and they wanted to settle in a small, close-knit community,
where the kids would get a solid education but within comparatively easy
commuting distance to her husband's job in Annapolis. Chesapeake Shores and the
inn were a perfect fit with their needs.
The only issue had been that the inn's kitchen wasn't state-of-the-art. Jess
had promised to look into upgrading the appliances, with a professional quality
range at the top of Gail's wish list. Now that she had Abby's infusion of cash,
Jess decided she could make good on that promise.
"I'm going to meet with the new chef," she told Abby as she headed out
at midmorning on Monday.
Abby barely glanced up from the paperwork that she always seemed to be obsessed
with. "Have fun," she murmured and went right back to whatever she'd
been doing.
Jess was actually relieved for once that Abby hadn't given her full attention.
She'd been anticipating an argument about this purchase. She thought she had
lots of valid reasons for buying the equipment now, but she had a hunch Abby
would find fault with them.
An hour later she and Gail were engrossed with shiny, stainless-steel
appliances that could have made any chef weep with envy. One glance at the
price tags almost had Jess weeping herself. She'd had no idea that professional
commercial-grade equipment could cost this much. She'd looked at their bank
balance, though, and knew there was money there for this kind of an investment
in the inn's future.
Swallowing her anxiety over Abby's reaction, she turned to Gail. "Okay, we
have to be prudent here. If you can only pick one thing, which would it be? A
new range? A bigger refrigerator? Something else?"
Gail immediately gravitated to the huge Viking dual fuel range with its
convection oven, multiple burners and special cooking surface for grilling.
Jess winced at the price.
"It'll last forever," Gail said, clearly sensing her reluctance.
"It's the kind of investment you won't regret. If you buy something on the
cheap, the repair bills will eat up whatever savings you have in the short
run."
"I suppose you're right," Jess said, seeing the logic immediately.
Surely, as pragmatic as Abby was, she would get that, too. Still, Jess could
envision her sister's reaction. "Is there another model, maybe a smaller
version of this one, that would work as well? I mean, we're probably not going
to be catering to huge crowds very often."
"But when we do, you'll want something this size. Otherwise there are
certain events you simply won't be able to take on. You said something about
wanting to do weddings at the inn. Even for a reception of fifty or so, you
need the kind of capability this will give you."
Gail had hit on the strongest selling point yet. Jess had big plans for
building the inn's private-event business. Obviously they couldn't handle
conventions, but small, classy weddings or family reunions would work nicely.
Her chef would need the right equipment if they were to pull off that kind of
event.
"Okay, we'll get it," she said decisively. "Let's find that
salesman and make the arrangements."
She just prayed she'd be alone at the inn when it was delivered. Once it was in
place in the kitchen, it would be a whole lot harder for Abby to insist it be
sent back. In fact, since her sister seldom went into the kitchen except to
grab a soft drink or tea from the refrigerator or to pour herself a cup of
coffee, maybe she wouldn't even notice the new purchase. Jess glanced at the
monstrous stove and sighed. Hardly likely, she thought. It was much more likely
that they were going to have the mother of all fights the instant Abby spotted
it.
Jess steeled herself for the argument that would follow. She'd just have to
pull rank for once. Her inn. Her decision.
Abby's money,
a voice in her head nagged.
No, Jess thought defiantly. It was the inn's money now. Abby had made an
investment. She hadn't been given control, except by Trace, but on paper at
least, the inn belonged to Jess and Jess alone. She still had the power to
write the checks.
Oh, who was she kidding? She'd been spoiling for a fight with her sister over
control ever since Trace had put Abby in charge of the finances. It might as
well be over a magnificent piece of equipment, instead of all the
nickel-and-dime stuff they'd been bickering over up until now.
"You look a little pale," Gail observed. "Are you sure that
buying this is okay? It's my dream equipment, but I don't want you to blow your
budget to smithereens to get it. I'd like to be able to buy quality produce and
meats in a few weeks, not skimp on ingredients."
"It's not a problem," Jess said firmly, reaching for the credit card
receipt and scrawling her name across the bottom.
She was able to narrow down the window for the delivery to a couple of hours
and carefully made a note of the date and time. Abby had said something earlier
about running up to New York for a couple of days, so the timing should be
ideal. It was going to be fine, she reassured herself.
Of course, if she was so sure about that, why was she working so hard to make
sure the delivery happened when Abby was away? Rather than think about that,
she turned to Gail. "Do you have time for lunch? We could start talking
about menus."
The chef's eyes lit up. "Fabulous. I already have lots of ideas."
For the next two hours, they sat in a fast-food restaurant jotting down notes
about possible main courses, appetizers, breakfasts and, of course, the decadent
desserts they both thought were a must. Jess used every piece of paper in her
purse, including the one with the delivery information on it. Gail ran out of
pages in her notepad, as well. As they left the restaurant, she turned all of
her notes over to Gail.
"I'll be in touch in a day or two with some daily menus, as well as a list
of possible appetizers for the opening party," Gail promised as they
parted.
Jess hugged her, grateful for her enthusiasm and her obvious expertise. "I
think we're going to work really, really well together."
"Me, too."
Jess drove home, her head spinning. She was almost as excited as she had been
on the day she'd signed the papers to buy the inn. It was all coming together,
just the way she'd envisioned it. The opening was only a few weeks away, and
after that it would be smooth sailing.
She considered going straight back to the inn to share her excitement with Abby
as she'd planned, but decided instead to tell Gram. Somewhere deep inside, she
recognized that she was afraid that Abby would find a way to cast a damper over
her enthusiasm. Just for today she wanted to bask in what she'd accomplished,
rather than listening to another lecture about the mistakes she'd made. There'd
be time enough for that when Abby discovered the bill for the new range.
*
* *
Abby had dealt with all of the inn's bills by lunchtime and
had turned her attention to the job that actually paid
her
bills when
she looked up to find Trace studying her.
"You look cute with your brow all furrowed like that," he commented
with a grin.
Abby leaned back in her chair. "You have an odd standard for cute."
"Nope. It's just you. I think you're cute all the time."
She gave him an exaggerated scowl. "Just what every woman hopes to
hear."
He laughed at her indignation. "How many times have I told you you're
beautiful? Didn't that sink in? And sexy. Have I mentioned how sexy you
are?"
She caught herself before she smiled. "I don't believe you have. Not the
sexy part, anyway."
"I guess I thought that went without saying, since I've been kissing you
every chance I get."
There hadn't been that many chances, she thought to herself, but the few there
had been were definitely memorable. He clearly didn't need to hear that,
though. His ego was massive enough as it was. "What are you doing here, by
the way?"
"We have a date. Don't you remember?"
"A date?" she repeated blankly.
"Ice cream with the twins. I figured I'd toss in lunch, too."
"You really want to spend that much time with the twins?"
He frowned at the question. "Why wouldn't I? They're great kids."
"I could change your mind about that by letting you take them to town on
your own. I think you'd come away with a different opinion entirely."
He pulled a chair up and sat down beside her. "Abby Winters, are you
dissing your own adorable daughters? I'm shocked."
"Just being realistic." She looked over his designer suit, crisp
white shirt and silk tie. Great attire for banking, but not for dining with her
girls. "What exactly did you have in mind for lunch? You look as if you're
dressed for the yacht club."
"I was thinking hot dogs from the vendor at the end of Main Street,"
he said at once. "The girls can run around outside and work off some
energy, while you and I enjoy a little adult conversation."
She shook her head. "You really are a dreamer. And if that's your plan, I
suggest you stop at your apartment and change, unless you're experienced at
getting mustard, ketchup and ice cream out of your clothes."
"I'm a very neat eater."
"Carrie and Caitlyn aren't."
"Ah, I see. Okay, I'll leave the jacket and tie in the car." He
studied her with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Or were you hoping to get a
look at my apartment and sneak a peek at me in my underwear?"
"With two five-year-olds present? I don't think so."
"Okay, then, let's go pick them up and get this show on the road."
Abby stood up, but before she could gather up her purse and the sweater she'd
worn on her walk over to the inn earlier, Trace snagged her wrist.
"I think I'll have my dessert first," he said, leaning in for a slow,
lingering kiss that steamed up the room. "Yep, sexy. No question about
it."
Shaken, Abby regarded him with dazed eyes. "That wasn't supposed to be on
the menu."
"Really?" he said innocently. "I could have sworn it was today's
special."
She gave him a smug look. "Well, since you're so satisfied with that, no
ice cream for you later. And no more stolen kisses, either." She didn't
think she could take the damage to her nerves. It was getting harder and harder
to tell herself that she and Trace were nothing more than old friends, because
she was beginning to remember with total, sizzling clarity just how much more
they had been.
*
* *
"Mr. Riley, can we have another ice cream cone?"
Carrie begged, even though she already had chocolate pretty much head to toe
from the last one. Of course, some of it had ended up on the ground when she'd
been running after her sister.
Caitlyn was covered with strawberry ice cream and still had several bites of
her cone left, but she bounced up and down beside her sister. "Yes,
please," she said, placing her sticky, strawberry-coated hand on his
thigh, leaving behind a streak of pale pink ice cream.
Trace glanced at Abby, who was turned away, clearly trying not to laugh. So far
he had a streak of mustard down one sleeve, a splash of ketchup on the front of
his shirt and now strawberry ice cream. He was pretty sure there was a smudge
of chocolate on his face, because Carrie had crawled up onto the bench and
patted his cheek earlier while thanking him for the first cone. She'd tilted
the cone precariously in the process, and he'd almost wound up with the whole
thing in his lap.
He gazed into those earnest little faces and struggled with what to tell them.
Logic told him they couldn't possibly still be hungry, not after one and a half
hot dogs each, French fries and a double-scoop cone of ice cream. However, he
had promised them all they could eat.
Again, he looked toward Abby for guidance, but she pretended to be gazing at
the bay, leaving him to handle the situation.
"Okay," he said at last. "But only one scoop and this time let's
get it in a bowl. Then you can sit over there under that tree and eat it with a
spoon."
"Okay," Caitlyn said agreeably. "I want vanilla this time."
"Me, too," Carrie said.
"Abby, what about you? Do you want more ice cream?"
"I think one hot-fudge sundae—which you pushed on me, by the way—is more
than enough."
He grinned. "I notice you ate every bite, though."
"Well, of course I did! You can't let hot fudge go to waste. That would be
a crime."
"Okay, then, two scoops of vanilla ice cream in bowls," he said.
"I'll be back in a minute."
He hadn't taken two steps when sticky little hands seized his, one on each
side.
"We'll help," Carrie declared.
Something turned over deep inside Trace at the feel of those hands in his. They
were so sweet, so trusting. He felt a powerful surge of paternal protectiveness
that he'd never anticipated. He knew in that instant that he'd do anything
necessary to be sure that nothing or no one ever hurt them.
A few minutes later, with the girls settled in the shade with their bowls of
what was rapidly becoming vanilla soup, he turned to Abby.
"They're really amazing, you know. You're clearly a great mom."
To his surprise, she sighed.
"I don't always feel like one," she confessed. "Back home, I
work too long. Some days I barely get to spend an hour with them before they go
to sleep. I wonder if one day they won't start to resent me for that, the way
Jess resents Mick."
"It's not the amount of time you spend with them, it's the quality. They
obviously adore you."
"You might think this is crazy, but some days I look at them and the
relationship they have with the nanny, and I actually get jealous. I think she
knows them better than I do. She was there for so many of their firsts, and I
wasn't."
"Hey, don't beat yourself up for that. You set your priorities, and you
did it because it was best for them."
"Did I? Or was it my own ambition that drove me?"
He frowned at the question. "I hear Wes talking now. How many times did he
say something like that to you?"
"More than once," she admitted. "Just because he was the one to
say it doesn't make it wrong."
"It does if it made you question yourself as a mother. I've seen
dysfunctional mothers and, believe me, you don't even reach the bottom rung on
the ladder. Remember Delilah Bennett? Now
she
was a bad mother."
Just as he'd hoped, Abby grinned. "You mean because she was basically
running a prostitution ring and drug operation out of her house?"
"Exactly. See what I mean? You're not even close."
"I should hope not."
"And Mitzi Gaylord, you remember her? She dressed in tight shorts and sexy
tank tops for her boys' Little League games."
"I'll admit that caused quite a stir among the men in town, but I'm not
sure it made her an awful mother," Abby said, but she was grinning.
Trace's expression sobered. "Look, being a bad mom is taking off when some
of your kids are too little to understand why you're leaving. Being a bad mom
is leaving a seventeen-year-old daughter to take over and try to make things
right. You lived that with Megan. You know firsthand what it's like to have a
mother you can't count on. You will
never
allow your girls to feel that
kind of pain." He tucked a finger under her chin. "Don't ever let me
hear you question your mothering skills again."
Tears flooded her eyes at his fierce words. "My mom…" Her voice
trailed off. She was clearly unable to come up with an adequate defense for
what Megan had done to her, to all of them.
"Was flawed," Trace said more gently. "It doesn't make her a
terrible person, just human. She made the worst kind of mistake with you, Jess
and the others. Trust me, those are the kind of mistakes that damage a kid, not
just working hard to earn money to support them."
Lower lip quivering, she whispered, "You're amazing. You always know just
what to say, even now, after all these years. It was the same way when we were
kids. I'm not sure I could have gotten through any of that without you right
there saying exactly what I needed to hear. When Mom didn't come back for
us…"
"I was there, Abby. I saw how much it hurt. I'm sure whatever I said back
then was pretty trite and superficial, but I wanted so badly to make you feel
better."
"The point is you tried. Mick was too lost in his own misery to deal with
what we were going through," she corrected. "And Gram was too
swamped. As for recently, believe me, Wes never bothered to say anything
supportive."
"Yeah, well, he's Wes," he said.
Her lips curved. "That does sum it up, doesn't it?" She glanced over
toward the shade, where both girls were sprawled out on the grass, sound
asleep, their bowls of melted ice cream forgotten. "I think it's time to
go."
"Okay," Trace said. "Just let me say one more thing before we
do. From here on out, no matter what happens or doesn't happen between us, you
can count on me, understood?"
She held his gaze, then slowly nodded, a smile playing about her lips.
"Understood."
There was complete and total conviction in her voice, and for the first time
since they'd reconnected a few weeks ago, Trace actually started to believe
there might be real hope for the future. And this time he was going to do
everything he could think of to make sure Abby didn't run away from it.