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Feeling a bit glazed herself, Abbie slipped off her coat and Ida wrestled it from her hands. Could this night get any worse? “Ida, I’m afraid I’m late. Maybe I should—”
“Go? Goodness, no. We’re just trying to decide who’s going to handle publicity for the event. Everyone,” she called out, crossing to the coatrack, “this lovely young woman is Morgan Winslow’s daughter, Abbie. A few of you might remember her. She lives and works in Los Angeles now, but she’s come home for her daddy’s wedding.”
Then she made the introductions, and before Abbie could draw more than a half dozen breaths, Ida had her in a seat across from Jace.
Her frazzled nerves frayed a little more. Few men could look darkly dangerous, sexy and utterly delicious all at the same time. But as Abbie took in his thick, collar-skimming black hair, compelling gaze and the grim curve of his mouth, she had to admit that Jace pulled it off without breaking a sweat. Then again, in her mind, he always had. Tonight he wore an open-throated black polo shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and drew her gaze to the muscular arms that had held her last night.
“Hello, again,” he said politely, then pushed to his feet. He scanned her jeans and hip-length burgundy sweater. “How did you hear about us?”
“My dad’s fiancée. Miriam knows I like to be busy, and she thought volunteering would give me something to do while I was in town.”
His mouth twisted with irony, and his dark brows lifted. “Imagine that.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Imagine.”
His gaze shifted to Ida, who was pulling her pen and tablet close again. The next words that passed his lips made Abbie wish she’d stayed in the ladies’ room.
“Ida, Abbie and I can handle the publicity. She’ll only be here for a short time, and that’s a job that can be completed early.” He faced her again, but continued to speak to Ida. “Having her on board could be a nice bonus for us. She’s connected. She might be able to convince a few of her country-club friends to make big, tax-deductible donations.”
Abbie felt herself pale as all eyes slid her way. “I—I’m not sure I’m the best person for the job. I’ve been away for years, and I’m afraid I don’t have many contacts in town anymore.”
Grinning in delight, Ida reached over to pat her hand. “Then won’t it be lovely to get reacquainted, dear? And if you have questions or problems, Jace will be there to help.”
An hour later, feeling shell-shocked and uneasy, Abbie said good night to everyone and hurried through the grainy, swirling snow toward her dad’s car. For the life of her, she couldn’t fathom why Jace would suggest they work together when they needed their own public relations guru just to keep them from sniping at each other. Had he done it because they needed the money he assumed she could get for them? Or was the reason more personal than that?
Clouds scudded overhead, nearly concealing a handful of stars and the white quarter-moon. As Abbie hunched deeper into her upturned collar and knitted scarf, she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her. After feeling his eyes on her for the past hour, there was no doubt that those footsteps belonged to Jace. Reaching the SUV, she turned to see what he wanted.
“You don’t have to work with me,” he said soberly, his breath clouding as he approached. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but you obviously have reservations. I’ll find someone local who wants to help.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to help.”
“Neither did I.”
“I think you did, and you’re wrong. I have no problem helping with the dinner. You’re the reason I have reservations.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she repeated. Was his memory that bad? Abbie stared at him for several seconds, then sighed. “Never mind. I have to go.”
Pulling up on the door lever, she tried unsuccessfully to open it—tried again, but it still wouldn’t budge. “Wonderful,” she breathed.
“It’s unlocked, right?” he said from behind her.
Irritated that he’d even ask, she kept tugging. “Yes, it’s unlocked. It’s frozen shut.”
“Then stop trying to force it before you break the handle. Let me try.”
“No, I’ll do it.” She was quite sure she could open a door on her own.
“Fine,” he replied, “but if you’re going to snap a handle, snap a rear one. It’ll be less frustrating to deal with while you’re waiting to get it fixed.”
Shoulders slumping, picturing her dad using one of the other doors to get into his car, she backed away and motioned for Jace to have at it.
In a moment, he’d pounded a fist around the back door to loosen it and opened it easily. Then he crawled inside and shoved the front door open.
“Okay, you’re set,” he concluded, backing out and waiting for her to slide behind the wheel. “But you’d better put a can of deicer in your purse if you’re planning to be here a while.”
Nodding, she started the car, then met his gray eyes. To her chagrin, that man-woman thing zipped between them, totally unexpected on the heels of her annoyance. “Thank you—for this, and for keeping me on my feet last night when that champagne bottle hit the floor.”
“You’re welcome,” he returned after a startled second. “Be careful going home.”
Abbie nodded. He’d felt that current of awareness, too, but he seemed determined to ignore it, so she would, too.
He was nearly to his own vehicle when she called his name. “Jace, wait.”
He walked back, turning up the collar on his brown leather bomber jacket and thrusting his hands into his pockets. Then, somehow, memories of their one unforgettable night together rose in her mind, and Abbie saw him smiling and shirtless, her naive fingers stroking his chest hair.
Her stomach floated. “What do you want to do about the publicity thing? Would you rather partner with someone you’ll find it easier to work with?”
“That depends,” he replied, managing a small smile. “Are you planning to be difficult?”
Bristling, she lifted her chin. “No. Are you?”
“No.”
“All right, then. Where do we go from here? Easter isn’t that far off.”
Even in the faint moonlight, she saw a challenge rise in his eyes. “I’ll phone you at your dad’s place and we’ll set up something.” He paused. “Then again, it might be better if I called your cell. No stress. On anyone.”
“If you want to know something, ask.”
“All right. Are you planning to tell your dad we’ll be seeing each other again?”
“I’m not a child anymore, Jace. Of course I’m going to tell him, and how he handles it is up to him. Now I have a question. Why did you suggest that we work together? Because of the money you think I can get for the food bank? Or did you just want to take another virtual poke at my father?”
“What do you think?”
She didn’t know—or maybe she didn’t want to know. “My dad’s number is in the book,” she replied, already tired of sparring with him. “If I’m not there, leave a message. As for my cell…” Danny’s voice came back to her and she felt another pinch of anxiety. “That number will be changing. I’ll give you the new one in a day or so.”
Then she closed her door, backed out of her parking space and left, a shivery truth once more making itself known. Whether they were fencing with each other, merely breathing the same air…or kissing on a dance floor…the attraction between them was still strong.
Last night at the country club their lips had barely touched, yet something about that kiss had been so tantalizing and provocative, Abbie had felt the power of it in a hundred different places.
An airy thrill moved through her, and she didn’t try to discourage it. It had been so long since a man had affected her this way it felt good to know that she was still able to respond. Toward the end of her marriage, she’d begun to worry.
Reaching the downtown area, she passed a short block of businesses, the mini mall, then the movie theater where she and Jace had once snuggled in the dark munching popcorn…and each other. Her nipples hardened.
And suddenly she wondered if her relationship with Collin would’ve worked if they’d had even a quarter of the chemistry that she and Jace still generated.
Chapter 3
The phone rang Wednesday evening as Abbie lit the tapers on the formal dining room table and called into the family room for her father and Miriam. She’d spent the morning changing her cell phone number and shopping, and the afternoon in the kitchen preparing dinner for the three of them. Now the house was filled with the tangy aromas of baked ham with raisin sauce, yams, chunky homemade applesauce and green beans with slivered almonds. Chocolate mousse was chilling in the refrigerator.
Grumbling that the caller had better not be a telemarketer, her dad veered into the hall, choosing the alternate route to the kitchen phone while Miriam joined Abbie in the Winslows’ dining room.
Miriam Abbot was a tall, attractive widow in her late fifties with fashionably short salt-and-pepper brown hair, brown eyes and a winning smile. Two years ago, she’d moved to Laurel Ridge and opened a travel agency in the building across the street from Morgan Winslow’s bank, and they’d quickly found enough common ground to form a friendship. Today she wore chocolate-brown wool slacks, topped by an off-white cashmere sweater, gold chains and a silky patterned scarf. Small gold hoops glinted at her earlobes.
“Everything looks and smells wonderful,” she said graciously. Her admiring gaze took in the steaming bowls and platters…the fresh flowers and the formal place settings…the gold-edged tea roses on white bone china. “You’ve gone to so much trouble. I just wish you would’ve let me help you.”
“Believe me,” Abbie replied, “I enjoyed being busy.” It had been a relief to concentrate on something other than her troubles in L.A. Though security had assured her that nothing had been disturbed in her apartment, hearing Danny’s voice last night had started an uneasy feeling in Abbie that wouldn’t go away. Meeting Miriam’s eyes, she continued. “Besides, I wanted to do something special for the two of you.”
“Well, thank you,” she returned. “You know, your dad loves having you home. Especially tonight, when you’ve made his favorite meal.”
Scowling, Morgan reentered the spacious dining room and said gruffly, “And I’d prefer to eat that meal while it’s hot.” Crossing one of the long Persian rugs on the gleaming hardwood, he handed the cordless handset to Abbie. “It’s for you,” he said brusquely. “Guess who?”
Feeling a rush of nerves, she accepted it and stepped away from the table. She didn’t have to guess. The red blotches on her father’s cheeks told her that the next voice she heard would be Jace’s low baritone.
“You two go ahead and start,” she murmured. “I’ll be right back.” Then she stepped into the pretty oak kitchen and raised the receiver to her ear. In the background, scattered laughter and conversation mingled with bouncy country music. “Hello?”
“Sorry for interrupting your dinner,” he said, and Abbie knew instantly that he was either put off by something her father had said, or he hadn’t wanted to make the call in the first place. “I won’t keep you long.”
“No problem, we hadn’t started yet.”
“Good. I just called to ask when you’re free to discuss the publicity for the Friends dinner. As you said, Easter isn’t far away.”
Abbie drew a breath, startled by the jittery feeling in her chest. She visited jails on a regular basis, faced criminals in interrogation rooms and held her own against the legal sharks on the other side of the courtroom. Yet maintaining her poise around Jace was becoming a real problem. “I’m free anytime, so we can schedule around your day.”
“Days won’t work. I’m at the business or checking logging sites until after five. But if you’d like to have dinner somewhere or come to my place, I can arrange to be free tomorrow, Saturday after our noon closing or any night next week.”
Abbie moved deeper into the kitchen to lean against the butcher-block work island. Conversation had ceased in the dining room, and she could picture her dad doing a slow burn as he tried to eavesdrop. Not that his opinions swayed her anymore. She loved and respected her father, but she was no longer that eager-to-please, motherless teenager. “Which would you prefer?”
“Doesn’t matter. It would be more convenient if you came to the house. Then I wouldn’t have to drag a folder full of last year’s fliers and lists with me—and you wouldn’t have to squeeze a notebook in between your coffee cup and water glass.” He paused. “But maybe you’d feel more comfortable meeting me somewhere else.”
Abbie silently counted to ten. “You really enjoy baiting me, don’t you?” The truth was, she wouldn’t feel comfortable anywhere with his doubting gray gaze boring into her, but she’d signed on to help and she had no intention of bailing out.
“I’m not baiting you. I’m just trying to arrive at a meeting place, a date and a time.”
“All right,” she replied evenly. “I’ll see you at your place tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. How do I get there?”
Her father’s stern voice came from the dining room. “Abbie, we’d like to say the blessing soon.” But she didn’t answer.
“I’m in the book. It’s a log house outside of town on Maxwell Road. You’ll know it when you see it. There’ll be sap buckets hanging on the maple trees.”
He was gathering sap? For maple syrup? Despite the fact that his work revolved around trees and timber, she wouldn’t have thought he’d be interested in that sort of thing. Or maybe the interest wasn’t his, she thought. Maybe he was gathering it for someone else. Someone female.
An illogical pinch of jealousy bit her and, annoyed, Abbie shook it off. He was entitled to a life. Giving him her virginity fourteen years ago didn’t give her any special hold on him—not that she wanted one. He was too stiff and unyielding. Too…something.
“I’ll find it,” she replied, still curious about the music and noise in the background, still wondering where he was calling from. “I’ll see you at seven.”
When she walked into the dining room a moment later, her father’s cheeks were still red, and Miriam was wearing a wary and confused look. Abbie took her seat, her father said the blessing and she began filling her plate.
Her dad extended the platter of sliced ham. “What did he want?”
Abbie took a slice, then drizzled a bit of raisin sauce over it. “I’m helping with the Friends Without Families Easter dinner.”
“What does that have to do with him?”
“Jace is on the board of the local food bank, and they’re organizing the event.”
Abbie caught the sharp surprise in Miriam’s eyes. She’d wondered if Miriam had been playing matchmaker when she suggested getting involved in the project, because she’d asked about that kiss. But apparently, her stepmother-to-be had been as clueless about Jace’s involvement as Abbie had.
Smiling, but speaking firmly, Abbie glanced at her father again. “We’re working on publicity together. I’m seeing him tomorrow night.”
His eyes went dead and he sent her a long, steady look that was easy to interpret. You’re thirty-three years old, and I can’t tell you what to do anymore. But this does not please me.
Forty minutes later, when her dad had returned to the family room off the formal living room to read the evening paper, and she and Miriam were straightening the kitchen, Miriam sent Abbie a skeptical look. “Want to tell me what’s going on between you and your dad?”
Abbie met her eyes for a moment, then returned the salt and pepper shakers to the cupboard beside the built-in microwave. She wiped a damp dishcloth over the pale blue countertops. “He didn’t tell you about Jace and me?”
“When I asked about the kiss at the Mardi Gras party, he muttered something about ancient history. But from his mood tonight—and that phone call—I’m thinking that it’s not so ancient.” She smiled. “I don’t mean to pry—truly. Your business is your business. I’d just rather not spend my honeymoon with a grumpy bear without knowing why he’s grumpy.”
Abbie rinsed the cloth then draped it over the divider in the stainless double sink. Her dad hadn’t gotten bullheaded and left the table after Jace’s call, and he’d complimented Abbie on the meal. But conversation had been strained despite Miriam’s best efforts to shake her father out of his funk. “It’s a long story,” she murmured.
Miriam smiled. “They’re my favorite kind. I don’t have anything to do for a while, and we both know that in a matter of seconds, your dad will be reading the newspaper through his eyelids.”
Abbie glanced toward the doorway leading to the dining room and the living and family rooms beyond. She wasn’t ashamed of what had happened with Jace all those years ago. And she didn’t mind telling Miriam about it because she was easy to talk to and they’d already begun to form a relationship based on mutual admiration and respect. But now that the tension in the house was ebbing, she didn’t want to be discussing that night in the gazebo if her father came in. This was his home, he’d be getting married in two days and he didn’t need to get all worked up again.
Miriam seemed to read her mind. “Know what? I was about to suggest we have another cup of tea, but I don’t think either of us is all that thirsty.”
Abbie waited through her pause.
“When your dad picked me up after work, he said he’d had a horrific day. I’m going to tell him that you’re driving me home. Unless you’d rather not?”
Abbie knew she meant, unless you’d rather not tell me the story. But at this point, she wanted to talk about it. “I’d like to drive you home. Unless Dad’s not dozing and he’d prefer to do it.”
Miriam grinned. “Oh, he’s dozing, all right.”
Thirty minutes later, Abbie drove west on Maxwell Road beneath an onyx sky and a sparkling canopy of stars. She’d dropped Miriam off in town, and they’d talked the whole way. Though Miriam had given Abbie a few things to think about, she’d consider those things later. Right now she was searching for a log home surrounded by trees dressed in sap buckets. She’d told herself that since he wasn’t at home—and she was out and about, anyway—it wouldn’t hurt to make a dry run past his house so she could find it easily tomorrow.
But, though a sliver of moonlight reflected off a new dusting of snow, it was hard to see into the wooded landscape where leafless trees were interspersed with towering hemlocks and pines.
Two miles outside of town on the left side of the bumpy, unpaved road, she spotted the first sap bucket just inside the tree line. In a moment, several others glinted in the car’s headlights and a rural mailbox appeared.
Rolling to a stop beside his driveway, Abbie lowered her window and peered down the sloping lane. The faint odor of exhaust mingled with the fresh scents of pine and winter, and a faint breeze carried it inside.
Situated in a carved-out section of the woods, his log home stood, its peaked, glass-walled frontage and wide wraparound porch impressive in the glow of roof-and pole-mounted spotlights. Inside, a lamp burned dimly beyond the open drapes, and behind the house and to the right, several outbuildings melted into the trees.
Gripped by curiosity, Abbie continued to stare. They’d gotten a dusting of snow around four o’clock, and Jace’s long, plowed driveway was smooth and white, devoid of tire tracks. Obviously, he hadn’t returned yet. And now that she’d located his home…she had to turn around somewhere, didn’t she?
