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“You should probably thank her for being willing to live here with him. I hear she was kind of an influential voice in New York.”
“I heard socialite. I just didn’t believe anyone used that word anymore.”
He smiled because she couldn’t hide the bitterness she clearly disliked feeling. At least she felt safe venting to him. “I’ll look forward to your information. Thanks for doing this, Emma.”
“You’re welcome.” She picked up her own laptop case, and slipped his card into a pocket. He left while she was packing the rest of her things.
* * *
IN THE GRIP of an overgrown crepe myrtle she was trying to prune, Emma heard tires on the gravel drive. She twisted, hoping not to see Noah. She didn’t recognize anyone’s car sounds anymore. Struggling against the pull of the bony branches in her hair, she turned to set the shears on the ground and tried to unthread herself.
Too bad Owen wasn’t working today. He’d had some super-secret trip to a city in the big world.
A low-slung, silver vehicle turned on the gravel, slinging a few rocks upward. The driver was Megan, looking pretty sporty for a pregnant woman. She parked and climbed out, pushing her sunglasses into her dark brown hair like a headband.
As they eyed each other across the expanse of gravel, Emma didn’t know what to say. They’d been polite at the wedding about nine months ago, but neither had experienced step-relation love at first sight. And the other night, Megan had left without speaking to her.
Maybe because no matter how much Emma didn’t want to be her old, pushy, demanding, loveless, but hungry-for-love self, she couldn’t help the hostility she used for protection. Her father had someone new, and a new child coming.
Emma hadn’t expected life to stop while she was gone, but she hadn’t expected her father to find a whole new family that might be a bit more pleasant than she was.
Megan turned back to the still-open door of her car and tugged a big, canvas bag of greens out of the passenger seat. “Your father said you like kale.”
Emma nodded. “Thank you.” She crossed to her and took the bag out of her arms. The tension between them was almost palpable. It had to stop, Emma thought. She could stop it. “Do you want to come in for some coffee?” She glanced down at her stepmother’s swollen belly. “Or maybe herbal tea?”
Megan shut her car door. “I’d like that.”
Emma turned toward the house. Her father, Brett Candler, had met Megan at some bank do in New York, and less than a year ago they’d married. Her stepmother was barely nine years older than she was. Emma wanted to like the woman who’d made her father happy at last.
“Mind the construction area. Owen’s off today.”
“How much longer do you think he’ll be working here?”
“Until sometime around Thanksgiving.” Emma glanced back. Megan was holding her stomach and clinging to the newly sturdy handrail.
Emma stopped and held out her hand. “Let me help you.”
Megan hesitated for a moment. Then she took Emma’s hand. “Thanks.”
At the top of the stairs, they both released themselves from the oddly awkward handclasp, and Emma put on some speed to reach the kitchen. She eased the kale out of the bag and into the wide sink. “Take a seat. I’ll plug in the tea thing.” That was what she’d always called her grandmother’s clear plastic electric kettle. “It plugs in and heats water quickly. Nan loved hot tea when the weather turned chilly, and I’ve been drinking it, too, since I got back.”
“A way to be closer to her, maybe,” Megan said.
Emma measured her stepmother with a smile that felt stiff no matter how badly she wanted it to be natural. “Let me see what I can offer you.” She went to the cupboard and took down several different packets, as pretty as small square paintings. “Any of these look good to you?”
Megan pulled a purple packet from the array. “I’ll get the mugs.” She turned in a half circle. “If you point me to the right shelf?”
Emma did, and then she folded the canvas bag and set it at the end of the island. “It was nice of you to bring the greens.”
Megan nodded, setting the mugs on the counter. She came back to the island, playing with the corner of the teabag. “I wanted to talk to you, Emma,” she said.
Emma moved back to the counter. “Maybe I haven’t been as open with you as I should be.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.” Megan dropped the teabag. “But I love your father. I wonder if you believe that.”
Emma would have changed the subject immediately if her mind hadn’t gone blank.
“I asked your dad if I could bring the kale because I want to clear the air between us. You’ve been home for more than a week. I don’t know how long before you leave again, but your father doesn’t know how to invite you to our house—to your old home—without worrying I’ll be hurt. He thinks you stay away because you’re upset we got married.”
Emma reached into a cupboard beneath the island for the tea thing. She went to the sink to add water, then plugged it in. “I’d like to see more of Dad. Just ask me when you both have some time.”
Megan plucked her sunglasses off her head and dropped them on the folded bag. She crossed to Emma, her sudden purpose startling. “You have twigs in your hair.”
“Thanks.”
“Bend down.”
Though Megan was so close to her in age, her hands, easing the crepe myrtle out of her hair, reminded her of Nan and being cared for. Small moments that mattered because Nan had glowed with a kindness Emma couldn’t even begin to grasp.
But Megan wasn’t required to groom a testy stepdaughter.
“You know what?” Emma said. “There’s baby stuff in the attic here. Nan kept it. Apparently, every time I outgrew an item of baby equipment, my mom dragged it over here to get it out of her sight.”
Megan looked startled. Her mom must not have been like Pamela. Emma closed her eyes, then plastered on a smile. “Sorry. I’m trying to change, and that kind of talk was a step backward. Do you want to see if you like anything?”
“I have a crib and a few other things.”
Emma turned to look at her with a smile. “Throw me a tiny bone. I’m trying.”
“I mean yes,” Megan said. “I’d enjoy rooting around in your attic.”
“It’s cleaner than most of the downstairs, as I’m moving everything to make room for Owen to work. Apparently, we had termites almost everywhere, but the attic floor is safe. We’ll go up this way.”
The back stairs landed on the second floor and then again at the attic, the door of which opened as if Emma had just oiled the hinges. Which she had.
“Could we talk about what I said?” Megan asked.
“I’m not upset you married my dad.” Emma regretted the polite lie, walking ahead of Megan to show her to the far corner of the attic. Furniture was set up as if in a nursery. A high chair her great-great-grandfather had dented with his spoon, and a crib with totally unsuitable spindles. “I take that back. I’m a little upset.” She lifted the high chair’s table. “See, this works.”
“I do like that. I’ll need to make sure it’s still safe for a baby.”
“Good idea. I didn’t want Dad to live alone the rest of his life. I thought he’d find some lovely, stable woman.”
“More his age?” Megan’s laugh was gentle. “But I am stable. I can get you references.”
Emma laughed with her. “It’s just odd. You’re practically my age. He didn’t tell me you were pregnant until I came back.”
“So I heard. He burst out with it as soon as the exterminator turned his back while they were showing you the termite damage here.”
“Dad and I share a pretty strong tendency toward clumsiness.” Emma moved on to a rocking horse her father had painted dark green for her. “I remember when he put this mane and tail on. The original was bedraggled and gray.” She stroked the fine, honey-brown strands. Her choice of color. “I called her Miriam, and I braided for hours and hours. If you have a girl, she’ll love Miriam, too.” Emma turned the horse and dragged it toward Megan. “I feel disloyal toward my mother if I accept you, which is odd, since she and I are still on tense terms. I’m sure you heard what happened before I left for Europe.”
“I’m sorry. I have heard.”
Emma tugged at the rocking horse’s mane, braiding automatically.
Megan shrugged with a self-conscious smile. “But your mother’s your mother. You can’t help loving her.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been more decent to you.” Emma meant the apology. She dropped Miriam’s braid and faced Megan full on. “Do you want anything you see?”
Megan appeared not to hear. “Emma, I hope we can be friendlier from now on.”
“I’ve been wary since I met you. I didn’t realize how much I’d cut you out until you left the clinic meeting without speaking to me. People around here think I’m—”
“I don’t pay any attention to what they think.” Megan reached over to Miriam and began to rock her. “Though I’m sorry to tell you, I enjoy the crazy stories. Backyard stills and fights on stairs and pranks on tourists.”
Emma relaxed her guard a little more. “The tourist pranks are more just putting on a show for them. Folks like you come down here from New York, expecting hayseed. There’s a moment in the life of every teenager in Bliss when she must offer the tourists a show.”
“I never expected hayseeds. The teenage populace around here is a little defensive, though.” Megan also seemed to relax. She pointed. “What about that bookshelf?”
Emma had once stored her books in it. The pale sage paint was peeling and scratched. “I could redo it for you if you want it.”
“I’ll take you up on that, and I’d love the high chair and Miriam.”
“Your baby can rename her if she wants.”
“My little girl,” Megan said, rubbing her belly. “Our little girl, really. Brett’s and mine and yours, if you want to be part of her life.”
Emma stared at her stepmother’s stomach. “My baby sister,” she said. “I’ll come back when she’s born.”
“Maybe you’ll still be here. She’s due mid-December.”
Emma felt the tug of home, of this house. Of love she might find if she stayed. Or love she might lose because she’d never been herself until she’d left this town, and coming back, she was already falling into old habits. “I won’t be here in mid-December.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_4b664a04-471d-54a0-849f-0ce6cd0fe8db)
THE ONLY GYMS in Bliss were located in the resorts on the mountain. Many of them opened their doors to local residents, and Noah chose the one with the largest heated pool. The morning after the meeting, when he’d finished working out with free weights, he changed for a swim.
The second he kicked off, his breathing settled into a rhythm and his body took over. He heard only water, saw only pool and the ceiling overhead. The laps he swam healed him. He trusted these mornings to shut out the world and his discomfort in it.
No one here needed anything from him. He had complete control. And propelling along the lane was like flying.
It was better than sinking into a bottle of vodka—an instinct he feared—or using his fists to pound the town council into working for the good of their constituents. Such thoughts drove him to swim longer, faster.
Today, he didn’t have to think. Emma, leaning against the library conference room doorway, confused, interested, troubled about Megan, flashed in his mind and refused to leave. Behind that image, he saw his first mistake: accepting her help. He’d sworn he’d stay away from her. He’d even argued with his mother about checking on Owen simply because he’d dreaded the possibility of seeing Emma, fearing the encounter would bring all his old rage back to the forefront.
When she’d left town, he’d nearly broken his jaw in his struggle to repress his anger at her ultimatum—that he could either throw his life and plans away to follow her, or she would leave without him.
That moment, when he’d realized she had no compassion for anyone except herself, had changed him. He didn’t want to love a woman like Emma, who’d used walking away as a weapon. She had problems with her mother, who loved too much, and her father, who’d been a cold fish until Megan had thawed him.
Noah swam on, completely happy to drown his feelings.
Then he heard a splash. Deana, who handed out towels at the pool entrance, had warned him a few weeks ago that a new swimmer had joined the pool, but Noah had evaded that company until today. He kept his head down.
* * *
“WHY IS YOUR hair so wet?” Brett Candler asked as Emma climbed out of her car in front of Baby Bliss, a store that sold fancy baby goods at exorbitant prices. “Where did you find a pool this time of year?”
Emma hugged her father one-armed, the Candler hugging maneuver that required only a moment’s contact. “Do you get any exercise at all, Dad?”
“Don’t tell Megan, but I’ve started running the lane between our house and your grandmother’s.”
“Why not tell her? She’d probably be glad you’re running.”
“Well, it’s more like odd raceZwalking,” he said. “And I don’t want her to see that.”
“I’ll keep my relationship advice to a minimum, Dad, but she might like to odd-race walk with you. In fact, I would, too.”
“You can. I don’t mind if you see me struggling. I’ll text when I’m heading your way in the evenings, but the day I’m breaking land speed records, I’ll fill her in. For now, she thinks I’m checking the fencing around both houses.”
“I think she’s brighter than that.”
Brett held the door to the shop for her. “She tells me you had a good talk.”
“She was honest and sweet and invited me to stop being a jerk. I’m accepting her invitation.” Emma glanced up, catching her father’s stunned expression. “She didn’t put it that way, Dad. Don’t you know her?”
“For a second, you made me wonder if you’d argued with her.”
“I love a little drama, but I’d prefer to stop having it with people.” Emma avoided her father’s anxious gaze. She had to make things right with Megan. She studied the Baby Bliss items. “What about a stroller, Dad? Megan said you have a crib.”
“A stroller. I don’t think we have one of those.”
“What colors?” There were bright ones, girly ones and basic color wheel options.
“She’s using a lot of green in the nursery.”
“Green.” Emma crossed to the wall where strollers hung in rows. “You don’t think she’d rather choose her own?”
“Aren’t they all pretty much alike?”
They looked like armored field equipment. “I guess. She can always return it for something she’d prefer.”
“Good idea.” He grabbed the nearest dangling wheel. “How about this one?”
“It’s more than the thought that counts.” Emma perused the selection. “You’re having a girl, but pink would probably get dirty. Maybe I could get brown with accents of pink.” She looked at one mostly covered in brown, with bubbly-looking cats in bows scattered across fields of pink on the seat and the underside of the roof.
“That’s too expensive,” Brett said. “You can’t spend that much money on us, Emma.”
“Megan needs to know I’m on board with the baby.”
