22
T
hree
days before the opening party for the inn, Abby was in town when she spotted
her sister Bree climbing out of a rental car in front of Sally's. She was
wearing a loose-fitting dress that hung on her slender frame, sandals and none
of the usual bangles that decorated her wrists. Her lush auburn hair had been
caught up in a careless knot on top of her head. She looked beautiful, as
always, but there was something else, something Abby couldn't quite put her
finger on at first. Then she got it. Bree looked sad, almost lifeless. Even her
eyes, usually sparkling with intelligence, wit and excitement, looked dull.
Abby hurried down the block and called out. The instant Bree saw her, her
expression became more animated, her smile as bright as ever. After catching
that first uncensored look, though, Abby didn't buy the transformation.
She wrapped Bree in a hug, aware that her sister's embrace was a little too
tight, as if she needed to hold on to something familiar.
When they stepped apart, Abby caught her hand. "Let's have lunch and catch
up."
Even though it had been evident that Bree had been heading to Sally's herself,
she looked hesitant. "Maybe we should go straight to the house. I called
Gram from the road. She'll be watching for me. I was just going to grab a quick
cup of coffee first."
"Then we'll call her and let her know I found you and claimed first
dibs," Abby said, determined not to let this chance to spend some alone
time with Bree slip away.
Though it was obvious she wanted to, Bree didn't argue. She went inside and
settled into a booth, dutifully smiling at Sally's greeting, but seeming to
shrink away from all the other greetings that were called out by locals who
recognized her. Many of them had read in the weekly newspaper about her success
as a budding young playwright-in-residence at a Chicago regional theater. Those
who brought that up received little more than a polite nod of acknowledgment
from her sister.
As she placed the call to Gram and explained Bree's delay, Abby studied her
sister. She didn't like what she saw any better now than she had when she'd
first spotted her on the street. "I'll have her there in an hour,"
she promised. "We need a little bit of girl time."
As soon as she'd disconnected the call, she faced Bree. "You look good. A
little too thin, maybe, but otherwise as gorgeous as ever."
"I look like hell," Bree contradicted.
There was an edge in her voice that told Abby she believed what she was saying.
"You could never look like hell," Abby told her impatiently.
"Why would you say that?"
Bree shrugged. "I've stopped deluding myself about everything."
Abby frowned at her defeated tone. "Meaning what?"
"Nothing. I shouldn't have said that." Bree forced another smile.
"So how are those sweet girls of yours?"
Reluctantly, Abby accepted the change of topic. Once Bree clammed up, no amount
of prodding was going to get her to talk. "The girls are amazing, as
always. And a real handful. I had no idea how much of a handful they could be
until the past few weeks down here without the nanny around for backup. I've
been paying her, just so we don't lose her, so I've actually considered having
her come down here if we're here much longer. I probably should have done that
right away, but Gram claims she enjoys spending all this time with Carrie and
Caitlyn."
"Tell me about this extended stay of yours. How did that happen? I was
surprised when you said you'd been here for almost two months."
"Jess needed some help getting the inn ready, so I decided to stick around
for a while." It was shading the truth a bit, but she knew Bree would jump
all over her if she knew the whole story. Her sister fell into the camp that
thought they all babied Jess way too much instead of forcing her to rely on
herself. To emphasize that this had been as much about her as Jess, she added,
"It's been wonderful for me to spend so much time with the girls. They
love it here. And Gram and Mick are spoiling them rotten. It's going to be
impossible to get them back into their regular routines once we're home
again."
"Yeah, what's the scoop on Dad? He gave up the project in San Francisco?
Has he ever done that before, just walked away?"
"Not that I'm aware of," Abby admitted. "I want to believe it's
because he's trying to make up for years of never being here for us." She
leaned across the table to add in a whisper, "And because Mom's coming for
the opening."
Bree's jaw dropped. "Mom's coming here?" There was shock and maybe
even a touch of dismay in her voice.
Abby scowled at her tone. "You're not going to make a big deal out of
that, are you? Things could be tense enough as it is. I haven't even had the
nerve to tell Jess yet. It'll be hard enough to make her see that this is a
good thing without having to do battle with you, too."
"I'm just surprised," Bree claimed. "How'd you talk her into
it?"
"Laid on a ton of guilt," Abby admitted.
"And Dad? How did he take it?"
Abby made a face. "He wasn't overjoyed at first, but he's not going to
make a fuss," she said. "I hope."
"Skip hoping and go straight to prayer. This could blow up in your face,
big sis."
Abby beamed at her. "Which is one reason I'm so glad you decided to come
home. You're going to be my backup and help me keep everyone on their best
behavior."
"I doubt all the diplomats at the United Nations could pull that
off," Bree said dryly. "O'Briens aren't known for their reticence,
much less their tact. Witness the last Christmas dinner when Gram insisted on
inviting Uncle Tom and Uncle Jeff and their families. Dad was barely civil to
his own brothers."
Abby very much feared she was right. "Okay, enough about all the drama
around here, what's going on in your life?"
"Same old thing," Bree said, dodging the question. "We really
should get out to the house. I'm anxious to see Gram."
Abby was struck by her omission. "But not so eager to see Dad?"
"Mick's never known quite what to make of me," Bree admitted. "I
spent too much time in my room, reading and writing in my journal. The rest of
you are all so outgoing, just the way he is, but I hang around in the
background, observing life instead of living it, according to some theories
I've heard recently."
Abby picked up on the hurt in her voice. "Who said that?" she
demanded sharply. Whoever it was definitely had a cruel streak and she didn't
like that, not where her sensitive sister was concerned.
Bree waved her off. "It doesn't matter. We're talking about Dad. Mostly, I
don't think he even noticed me, especially after Mom left."
Abby sighed, knowing that Bree was at least partly right. "He barely
noticed any of us then." She reached across the table and gave her
sister's ice-cold hand a squeeze. "He's changing, Bree. I think you'll see
it right off. He's really trying to reach out."
Bree gave her an amused look. "Same old Abby, always wanting everything
tied up in a nice, neat bundle, everyone getting along. Haven't you learned
that life's not like that?"
There was a bitter undertone to her voice that startled Abby. It was true that
Bree had always been the quiet one, a bit of an outsider in her way, but she'd
been totally focused on her goals and content in her own skin. It wasn't like
her to take potshots at anyone else.
Abby forced herself not to take offense and to keep her tone even. "Trust
me, after dealing with Wes, I know just how badly life can suck. I prefer to
focus on the positive. Sue me."
Bree winced at her response. "Sorry. That was uncalled for. I know you've
had a tough time. I'm just exhausted. Once I've settled down and had some rest,
I promise not to be so bitchy."
Abby accepted the apology. Even though she desperately wanted to dig deeper and
find out what was behind Bree's mood, she let it go. There'd be time enough to
find out, though that would only happen if Bree wanted it to. There wasn't a
woman in the world who could keep her own counsel as well as she could.
*
* *
Trace had accepted his mother's invitation to a family
dinner with an ulterior motive. Tonight was the night he intended to force his
father into making a decision to give the job at the bank to Laila. She'd been
doing excellent work the past few weeks under the guise of helping him out of
the jams he manufactured, but the pretense was starting to wear thin on all of
them. Besides, he had several important design jobs with deadlines rapidly
approaching. He wouldn't have to manufacture the crises in a couple of weeks.
They'd be real enough.
Because he didn't want Laila to have to sit through his exchange with his
father, he decided to have it out on the ride home from work. He'd hitch a ride
back into town with his sister after the evening ended, assuming she was still
speaking to him by then. She still had reservations about his attempts to
manipulate things in her favor.
"Tell me why you're not driving yourself over for dinner," his father
said, regarding him with suspicion.
"This suit's hardly the right thing to wear on my Harley and Mother would
flip out if I showed up in jeans," he said, then added, "And I
thought we could have a little time alone to talk without Raymond hovering over
us at the bank or Mom hovering over us at the house."
Understanding dawned on his father's face. "This is about your sister,
then."
Trace nodded. "She's been excelling at every single thing she's done,
hasn't she?"
For a moment, he thought his father might not acknowledge Laila's
accomplishments out of pure stubbornness, but eventually he sighed and said,
"She's proved herself to be more than competent."
Trace slanted a look at him. "You're not surprised by that, are you?"
"No, of course not. She didn't get that master's degree in business by not
knowing a thing or two," he admitted.
"Does that mean you're ready to give her a shot at the job?" Trace
pressed.
His father pulled off to the side of the road and turned to him. "Are you
really that sure that a career at the bank is something you'll never want?
You're determined to walk away?"
His father didn't even try to hide his disappointment, but at least he seemed
to recognize that the battle was all but over to keep Trace working with him.
Trace nodded. "I love the design work, Dad. More than that, I'm successful
at it. I set my own pace, take jobs that will challenge me." He grinned as
he loosened his tie and opened the collar of his shirt. He'd stripped off his
jacket even before getting in the car. "Best of all, I don't have to wear
a suit and tie, except for the occasional meeting with a prospective new
client." That last alone was a huge plus in his book.
Trace saw the dismay in his father's eyes, but Lawrence Riley had always been a
man who knew when to cut his losses. "Okay, then, I'll speak to Laila
tonight. Make her an offer."
"The same one you made me," Trace warned. "You can't offer her
less, not in terms of money or in the scope of her responsibilities. In fact,
you ought to be offering her more, just to prove you have faith in her, to show
that her hard work has won you over."
His father frowned at the suggestion. "Now you're telling me how to run
the bank?"
"No, I'm telling you how to make sure Laila takes this job and how to mend
fences with her in the process."
"You think I haven't learned my lesson on both counts? She's already told
me once what I could do with what she described as a 'handout.'"
"Well, she's a Riley. She has her pride, too."
His father pulled back onto the road. They rode in silence for a few minutes
and then he asked, "Does that mean you'll be heading back to New York
right away?"
Trace hadn't meant to get into this tonight, but his father had just given him
the perfect opening. "The truth is I'm hoping to stay right here in
town."
"In that tiny little apartment?"
"Actually I've made an offer on a house. I think you've probably been
there. It's owned by the Marshalls, up on the north end of Shore Road, past the
inn."
His father whistled. "That's one that Mick O'Brien built, isn't it?"
"It is and it's amazing, Dad. It'll be perfect for a family."
His father gave him a quick, sharp look. "You have one of those?"
"I'm hoping to," he admitted.
A smile tugged at his father's lips. "Abby, I assume."
"If she'll have me, but this is not for public discussion, Dad. I haven't
proposed yet. I haven't even told her about the house. I'm afraid it will make
her skittish."
"You filed your loan application at the bank yet?"
"I've filled out the paperwork and pulled all the credit reports, but
obviously someone else will need to go over everything."
"Leave the file on my desk first thing tomorrow. I'll handle it myself. I
know what they were asking for that place. You have enough for a down payment?
If you need help, I can—"
"Thanks, Dad, but I've got it covered."
His father gave him an approving look. "That's good, then. Your mother's
going to be thrilled about this."
"Please don't mention it just yet."
"If you insist, but my marriage hasn't lasted all these years with me
keeping things from her."
"I know and you won't be in that position for long, I promise. I want Abby
to have this opening at the inn behind her so she can think straight about the
two of us. If I push it when she's feeling overwhelmed, I think she'll turn me
down flat."
"You've loved this woman for a long time, haven't you?"
"Seems like most of my life," he agreed.
"I'm glad it's finally working out, then."
Trace studied his smug expression and thought, not for the first time, that his
father had been hoping for just this outcome when he'd dragged Trace home. He
chuckled.
"You happy with yourself?" he inquired.
"Me? I didn't have anything to do with this," his father claimed.
"You weren't hoping that Abby would ride in on her white horse to save
Jess, when you brought me here to work at the bank and deal with that financial
mess at the inn?"
"I knew it was a possibility Abby would come," he admitted, "but
no more than that."
"Dad, you always loved playing the long-shot horses at Pimlico and Laurel.
Something tells me you weren't above doing the same thing with my love
life."
His father responded with a deep-throated chuckle. "You'll never gather
enough evidence to prove that."
"Well, just in case that
was
your intention, thanks," Trace
said.
Coming back to Chesapeake Shores, whatever his father's motives had been in
getting him here, couldn't have been timed any more perfectly. It seemed he was
within stretching distance of grabbing everything he'd ever hoped for.