*
* *
If Abby didn't adore her grandmother, it would have been
incredibly tempting to throw something at her after she'd made that glib
remark, then sashayed off to leave Abby alone with Trace and his rock-hard abs
and bare shoulders. She marched into the laundry room, snatched his still-damp
shirt from the dryer and tossed it at him.
"Put this on and go," she ordered.
"Not just yet," he said, sitting right where he was, though he did
put the shirt back on.
Worn to a frazzle by trying to straighten out her sister's financial mess and
by the twins, who were starting to feel just well enough to be demanding and
impossible, Abby didn't think she could cope with Trace, too. "Go,"
she repeated. "I really don't have time for this."
Just then Carrie and Caitlyn slipped into the kitchen, their feet bare, their
strawberry-blond hair a tangled mess, and enough spots on their sweet faces to
make them look pitiful.
"Mommy, can we have ice cream?" Caitlyn pleaded, before catching
sight of Trace. "Who're you?"
"This is Mr. Riley," Abby said tightly. "My daughters, Caitlyn
and Carrie." She gestured to them in turn, though it was likely a wasted
effort. No one meeting them at first could tell them apart.
If she expected the sight of them to send him fleeing, he proved her wrong.
Instead, he grinned and cupped Caitlyn's chin, turning her head this way and
that as if in admiration. "Quite a display you've got going on
there," he said, then turned to Carrie. "You, too. Have you counted
to see which one has the most spots?"
Carrie looked vaguely intrigued by the idea. "Why? Would the winner get a
prize?"
"Absolutely," Trace said. "All the ice cream you can eat at
Sally's once you're well."
Both girls regarded him with wide eyes. "Really?"
He nodded. "That's what I got when I had more spots than my sister when I
was about your age and we both got chicken pox at the same time."
Caitlyn's expression turned serious. "I don't think Mommy would let us eat
as much ice cream as we want."
Trace looked up at Abby with an appealing smile. "Come on, Mom. There
should be some reward after you've been sick."
"Are you suggesting that being well again isn't reward enough?" Abby
found herself asking, feigning a stern demeanor.
Trace looked at the twins. "I say no. What about you girls? Don't you
think there should be a prize?"
"Yes," they shouted in unison.
Abby couldn't help laughing at their enthusiasm. "Okay, ice cream for the
winner when you're well. For now, though, you get juice. After you've finished
that, I want you to go back upstairs, count those spots and then take a
nap."
"But we've been sleeping and sleeping," Carrie argued. "We're not
tired anymore. And we itch too much."
Caitlyn nodded. "We really, really itch."
Abby had foreseen this problem. "Okay, I'll be right up and you can get
into the tub. I have something that will soothe the itching."
Caitlyn turned to Trace. "Can you come, too?"
Abby stepped in before he could reply. "Mr. Riley doesn't have time to
help you two take a bath. Besides, that's not something you ask strangers to
do."
"But he's not a stranger," Caitlyn replied, looking puzzled.
"He's your friend."
"That's exactly right," Trace said, giving Abby a pointed look.
"Your mom and I are very old friends. But she is right about one thing, I
do need to go back to work."
"But when we're well, you'll come with us to have ice cream, won't
you?" Caitlyn asked.
Carrie nodded. "To make sure we get all we can eat."
"That's a date," he said, his gaze locked with Abby's in a way that
made her toes curl. "It was very nice to meet you, Caitlyn." His gaze
went straight to the right girl. He then turned to her sister. "You, too,
Carrie. I hope to see you both again soon."
How had he been able to immediately tell them apart? Abby wondered in
amazement. He'd accomplished it despite the matching nightgowns, identical
mussed hairstyles and spotty faces. How had he picked up so quickly on the
personality differences—Caitlyn's somber reflectiveness and Carrie's
feistiness—that set them apart? Obviously he'd given them his full attention,
something few adults bothered to do.
"See you soon, girls," he said as he headed for the back door.
Abby was about to release a sigh of relief, when he paused beside her and
dropped a deliberate kiss on her forehead. "Bye, Mom."
The twins giggled appreciatively, but Abby was left speechless. Trace knew he'd
gotten to her, too. His expression was smug as he left, then waved jauntily
from the back steps.
"Can we have ice cream at Sally's tomorrow?" Caitlyn pleaded.
"We'll be all better by then."
"Yeah," Carrie echoed. "And we want to see Mr. Riley again. He's
nice."
Abby wanted to tell them not to trust all that sweetness and charm, but how
could she? He had been nice to the twins. And if she didn't trust anything else
about Trace, she knew with absolute certainty that he would never intentionally
hurt her daughters.
*
* *
When Trace got back to the bank, Mariah called out to him as
he was en route to his office. "Your father wants to see you."
Reluctantly, Trace turned in that direction. He paused at Mariah's desk and
leaned down. "What kind of mood is he in?" he asked in an exaggerated
whisper. "Warpath? Or peacekeeping?"
She laughed. "I think you're safe enough. Go on in."
When he entered, his father looked up from the financial paper he was reading,
then beamed at him. "There you are. Where have you been?"
"I had a business meeting."
"With Abby O'Brien?"
"Abby Winters," Trace corrected. "But yes. I was meeting with
her."
His father seemed to take a closer look at him. "Are you sure this was
about business? And why is your shirt wet? She didn't shove you in the bay, did
she?"
Trace didn't intend to discuss the whole incident with the pitcher of water
with his father. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"I wanted to make sure she agreed to run things for Jessica. These loans
could go bad very quickly if we don't stay on top of this."
"I assure you I intend to keep a very close eye on the situation,"
Trace said.
His father gave a nod of satisfaction. "I thought you might." He
waved him off. "That's all. You can get back to work now. I believe
Raymond has some paperwork he wants you to take a look at."
"I'll check with him," Trace promised. "Then I have an
appointment I need to get to."
"Bank business?"
"No, I'm looking at a couple of places to rent."
He almost laughed at his father's reaction. He looked as if he couldn't quite
decide whether to be irritated that Trace might be moving out of the house or
overjoyed that he might be planning to stay around Chesapeake Shores after all.
"Why rent?" he asked eventually. "Buying makes more sense."
"Not for six months," Trace said firmly.
"You won't find a short-term lease anywhere in town," his father
protested. "You might as well stay put with your mother and me."
"Actually I already have a few possibilities. And it'll be better if I'm
on my own. Sometimes I work on my design projects until late at night—"
"What design projects?" his father demanded. "You're working for
the bank now and it's going to require your full attention."
"It won't require twenty-four hours a day," Trace said evenly,
determined to stick to his point and not get drawn into a fight with his father
over his freelance work. "And when I work, I have things strewn all over
the place. It would make Mother crazy, to say nothing of how I'd react if the
maid came through and tried to tidy things up for me."
"I see your point," his father said. "Okay then, suit
yourself."
Trace intended to do exactly that. With luck, he'd be in his own place by the
weekend. He'd have his studio set up in no time and be back at work on the two
assignments he'd just accepted by the first of next week. Between those jobs
and his plans for frequent contact with Abby, the next six months should fly
by.
*
* *
Abby had finally gotten the twins down for another nap,
checked on all her e-mails from work and responded to them and was now on the
porch with a glass of iced tea, when Jess's car came flying up the driveway and
screeched to a halt, kicking up dust. As soon as Jess emerged, it was evident
she was in a really lousy mood.
"Are you behind this?" she demanded, tossing a handful of credit card
pieces at Abby.
Abby regarded her blankly even as she gathered up the bits of plastic. Whoever
had cut it up had been thorough. "What happened?" she asked, keeping
her voice calm if only to counter Jess's near-hysteria.
"What does it look like?" Jess said, pacing back and forth in front
of her. Steam was practically rising all around her. "My credit card was
rejected when I went to buy more paint. Not only was it turned down, but it was
cut up right in front of my eyes with a whole line of people watching. I've
never been more humiliated in my entire life. I swear if you're behind this,
I'm never speaking to you again."
"Don't look at me," Abby told her. "I've had zero contact with
any of your credit card companies."
"You swear it?"
"Of course I swear it," Abby said, bristling. "When have I ever
lied to you?"
Jess's expression turned apologetic. "Sorry. It was just so awful and I
couldn't imagine how else it could have happened. And of course, the store
won't tell you anything."
"Have you called your credit card company?"
"Not yet."
"So rather than going to the people who could actually tell you what's
going on, you came right over here to yell at me?" Abby asked,
exasperated.
Jess winced. "Something like that. I'll call them as soon as I get back to
the inn."
"Did you get your paint?"
"No, I left it there. I was too embarrassed to try a different credit
card. I was afraid they'd all been cut off."
"You told me the other day you hadn't maxed any of them out," Abby
reminded her.
"I haven't," Jess assured her.
"And you've been paying the bills on time?"
"Sure," Jess said at once, then frowned. "At least I think so.
You know how busy I've been."
Abby groaned. She also knew how easily distracted Jess could be when it came to
things she wasn't interested in doing, like paying bills. This was the ADD
effect. Though Jess's case had improved some with age, her ability to focus was
still unpredictable at best. Since she mostly functioned at an acceptable
level, her doctors had never recommended that she take medication, at least not
as far as Abby knew. It would be just like Jess, though, to refuse to take
pills of any kind.
"I'll drive over later and we'll go through all the papers that have piled
up on your desk, see if maybe some bills got overlooked," Abby told her.
"I'm sure we can straighten this out."
Jess sighed and sank down onto the chair beside her. "I just keep messing
up. How can you stand to keep bailing me out?"
The truth was that Abby didn't know if she could do it for the long haul, not
without losing her patience entirely. What she needed to focus on were her
sister's skills, not her flaws, then figure out a way to compensate for the
things Jess was least likely to remember on her own. Hiring a bookkeeper was
the most obvious solution, but there was no room in the budget for that, at
least not yet. The bookkeeping job was evidently going to fall to her.
"What have you been doing today?" Jess asked, grabbing Abby's glass
of tea and finishing it off.
"Trying to keep the twins from going stir-crazy and taking Gram and me
with them, having lunch and then a fight with Trace."
"That's quite a day," Jess said, regarding her with concern.
"You okay?"
"Let's just say I'd rather match wits with the bears and bulls on Wall
Street. It's less stressful."
"But everything's okay with the loan, right?" Jess asked worriedly,
her concern over Abby quickly taking a backseat to her own issues. "The
bank agreed to your plan?"
Abby nodded. "As long as I'm in charge."
"I'm really sorry I dragged you into this," Jess said. "If it
helps, you'll have my undying devotion."
"I don't need your undying devotion," Abby told her. "What I
need is for you to make a real effort to help me get things back on track. Will
you do that?"
"I will. I promise," Jess said. "You tell me what to do and it's
done."
Though Jess's response was heartfelt and convincing, Abby couldn't help
wondering how long her commitment would last when she bumped up against financial
reality for the first time. Her reaction to having her credit card destroyed
did not bode well.
7
I
t
was just after four when Trace left the bank to meet Susie O'Brien, Abby's
cousin. A year younger than Jess, Susie worked for O'Brien Management, which
handled leases for some of the small apartments that had been built above the
businesses along Main Street.
When Mick and his brothers had been designing Chesapeake Shores, they'd thought
these residences would add to the charm and liveliness of downtown. A few
business owners had bought the upstairs units for themselves. The rest were
rented, mostly to singles and young couples who wanted to be at the beach but
either couldn't afford the larger properties in town or liked the urban feel of
living in the heart of even such a small downtown where they could easily walk
to restaurants, shops and the beach.
Susie had the obvious O'Brien genes, though she wasn't the beauty that Abby and
her sisters were. Her hair was bright red, her cheeks slightly freckled, but
she had the family's trademark blue eyes, long legs and winning smile. She also
tended to exaggerate her Southern roots, affecting a drawl that few natives of
the area possessed.
"Trace Riley, you surely are a sight for sore eyes," she told him
enthusiastically, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I could hardly believe
it when our receptionist told me you'd called. It's about time you decided to
move home."
"I'm not moving here permanently," he told her. "I'm just
looking for a short-term rental."
"That's what Pat said, but I figured you just wanted something to tide you
over until you could build a house or until something else opened up."
"No, this is it. I'm here for six months, then I'll be going back to New
York."
"Well, that's just a downright shame," she said. "But I do have
a few things I can show you. Shall we start right here? There's a two-bedroom
above Ethel's Emporium. It's probably the largest and because it's way down at
the end of the street it has a view of the water, if that matters to you."
"Let's take a look," Trace said, already striding in that direction,
eager to get this settled. He cared a lot less about size and location than he
did lighting. He needed plenty of windows for the kind of work he did.
Susie had no difficulty keeping up with his pace. He recalled that she'd run
track in high school and had obviously kept up with her running. A block before
Main ended, she turned right and went to the alleyway that ran behind the
building. "You know the entrances are back here, right? And there's space
for one car to park. I'm afraid visitors will have to find parking on the
street or along the waterfront, which can be tricky on weekends."
"No problem," he told her. "I'm not expecting a lot of
company."
"Well, then, let's go up and take a look." She bounded up the
enclosed staircase and unlocked the door, then stood aside to let him enter.
"You just take your time looking around," she said. "I'll wait
on a bench by the water, if that's okay. I've been racing around since early
this morning. I can use the break, and most people like to get the feel of a
place on their own without me babbling on about the obvious."
"Fine with me," he said, already focusing on the apartment.
The rooms weren't large and the furnishings were comfortable, but
uninteresting, a mix of styles that offended his artist's eye, but would
certainly do for the length of time he planned to be in town. The master
bedroom was at the back and had lousy lighting, but he didn't much care about
that, either. It was the second bedroom, the one he'd likely use as his studio,
that mattered.
When he walked into that spacious room, a slow smile spread across his face.
Sure, with the wide expanse of windows open there would be noise from the
street, which was obviously why it hadn't been chosen to be the master bedroom,
but light flooded through the windows along two walls. There was a spectacular
view of the bay to the east and an overview of the town square to the north. It
would be ideal for his design work. In fact, the whole apartment was perfect
for his needs, and it was easy walking distance to the bank.
Sold at once, he locked up and went in search of Susie. "Draw up the
lease," he said when he found her feeding bread to a flock of eager
seagulls.
"You like it," she said, sounding surprised. "I thought you'd be
put off by the decor. It's only a slight step up from early thrift shop, but
Mrs. Finch refuses to upgrade anything. She said the things from her attic
would do for people just passing through."
Trace grinned. He could hear the elderly widow saying exactly that. "I'm
surprised she doesn't have vases of silk lilacs all over the place, given the
way she loves them. I suppose I should be grateful for that."
"You didn't notice that the air in there smells of lilacs?" Susie
asked. "Whenever it's vacant, she comes over herself once a week to dust.
She never leaves without spraying a lilac scent around every room."
"As long as she doesn't do it again until I've moved out, I'll be
fine," he said, shuddering at the thought of the widow spritzing his
apartment with her favorite fragrance.
"Oh no, she would never intrude on a tenant," Susie assured him.
"So, this is it? You're sure? You don't want to see the other
places?"
"This is it," he told her.
"Okay then, I'll have the papers ready for you to sign in the morning.
Just stop by the management office. Maybe you'll run into my dad. I know he'd
love to see you."
Trace knew there was little love lost between Jeff O'Brien and Mick, but he'd
always found Jeff to be more approachable. And after his encounter with Mick
earlier, it might be nice to see a friendly O'Brien male. "I'll look
forward to it," he told Susie.
Now he just had to go home and tell his mother he was moving out. He had a
feeling she was going to be a whole lot less understanding about it than his
father had been.