Where Secrets Sleep

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Allison wanted to deny that Laurel Ridge was home to her in any sense. But she couldn’t deny the warmth of Ellen Whiting’s welcome.

* * *

TWO SOCIAL INVITATIONS in such a short period of time ought to be gratifying, Allison told herself. Would be, if not for the fact that she wanted to stay detached from the residents of Laurel Ridge, given the decisions she had to make.

She stood in the center hallway of the home her father had grown up in that evening, wondering what she was doing here. Mrs. Anderson hadn’t been able to mask her surprise when Allison mentioned where she was headed, but Allison hadn’t been able to tell whether the surprise was at Allison being asked to the Standish house or at Brenda for hosting a party.

Laurel Ridge seemed to have more than its share of large Victorian homes—relics, so Sarah had told her, of the days when the town was founded and lumber barons grew rich on the virgin timber of the ridges.

The Standish place was more modest than Blackburn House, making her wonder if that was part of the obvious rivalry between the families. But her father’s home had a grace and charm of its own. Pocket doors on either side of the central hallway led on the right to a dining room where an oval cherry table carried an array of finger sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres and on the left to a formal living room. Several well-dressed women were cruising the table, while a few men gathered around a sideboard bearing wine bottles and glasses.

Allison accepted a cup of punch from a white-aproned server and moved toward the living room. She’d greet her hostess, make the rounds and slip away early, before anyone could try to persuade her—

She stopped, staring at the silver-framed photograph that stood on the ornate Victorian mantel. This, then, was her grandmother. Allison moved closer, studying the features of the woman who’d been such a mystery to her.

Evelyn Standish must have been in her seventies when the photograph was taken, but she sat with her shoulders erect and her head held high. The face was austere and fine-boned, but with a hint of softness in the eyes. Or was Allison just hoping she read there some regret? Nonsense. Evelyn Standish had made her choice clear when she’d wiped her granddaughter out of her life. It was too late to go back now.

“Allison. You’re here.” Brenda, turning away from the fireplace, sounded as if she didn’t know quite what to do with Allison now that she’d invited her. “I’m sure there are people who’d be delighted to talk with you.” She looked around as if hoping to spot someone.

A hefty male figure loomed up behind her. “Well, this must be the long-lost granddaughter.” He nudged Brenda as he ran an obviously experienced eye over Allison. “Introduce me.”

“Yes, of course.” Brenda’s relief was visible. “Allison, this is Thomas—”

“Tommy Blackburn,” he said, seizing Allison’s hand and holding it a bit too long. “Don’t call me Thomas or I’ll think you mean my father. Glad to meet you. Nice of Brenda to arrange this little shindig so we can get acquainted.”

Allison freed her hand from his. “It was thoughtful of her.” But exactly what Brenda’s thought had been, she couldn’t say.

“What do you think of Laurel Ridge now that you’ve had a chance to see it?” He grinned and nudged her. “Don’t blink or you’ll miss it, right?”

Tommy Blackburn was as much a contrast to his father as she could imagine. He had to be in his forties, at least, and what man that age still wanted to be known as “Tommy”? Ruddy, jovial, with thinning hair and an incipient paunch, he looked as if he’d spent the afternoon on a golf course.

“I’ve met your father,” she said, taking a step back as he invaded her comfort zone.

“I heard.” He rolled his eyes. “You have my sympathy. The old man is obsessed about getting Blackburn House back in the family.”

Allison lifted her eyebrows. “You don’t share his eagerness?”

“Who wants to be burdened with more property? The way the economy is going, the only sensible thing to do with money is enjoy it. You can guess he doesn’t agree with that idea.”

“No, I can see that he wouldn’t.” Apparently Blackburn’s son had no desire to be an empire builder.

“Now here’s the Blackburn that will see us into the future.” Tommy reached out a long arm and caught a passing teenager by the shoulder. “T.J., say hello to Ms. Standish. Allison, this is my boy, Thomas Jeffers Blackburn.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Standish.” The boy, who couldn’t be much over seventeen or eighteen, had a prep school blazer and prep school manners, but his gaze swept over her figure much as his father’s had done. With his dark curly hair and that bold gaze, he probably had the teenage girls lining up for dates.

“Do you go to school here in Laurel Ridge, T.J.?” she asked, nodding to the prep school crest.

“St. Francis.” He shrugged gracefully. “Old family tradition, and all that.” He glanced from her to his father. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be getting some punch for Mrs. Conner.”

“Sure, go on, then, before she thinks you’ve forgotten.” His father waved him away. “He’s a good kid. Closer to my father than I am, I think sometimes.” Tommy leaned in a bit. “I’ll bet you’d like to see something of the place where your dad grew up. Let me show you around. There’s a sunroom on the back that has a nice view of the gardens. This way.” He put his hand on her waist, as if to steer her toward the hall, and let it drift down over her hip.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll let my cousin show me around if she cares to.” She slid away from his grasp. Did he find that approach actually worked on women? Or maybe he expected the Blackburn name to awe her.

With a polite nod, she crossed the room to where Brenda stood, gesturing with a glass dessert plate as she talked to a tall redhead with overly made-up eyes and a sulky smile.

Brenda swung toward her, arranging her face in a smile that seemed to argue with her anxious eyes. “Are you enjoying yourself, Allison? Tommy especially wanted to meet you.”

“I noticed,” she said, and the redhead gave her a surprised, involuntary smile. Up close, the girl was not as old as she wanted people to think, plainly still in her teens.

“This...this is my daughter. Krysta.” Brenda touched the girl’s arm lightly. “We were just...” She let the sentence die out, as if she didn’t want to finish it.

Disagreeing about something, Allison would guess, judging by the sulky look that settled back on to Krysta’s face.

“I don’t see any reason why I have to hang around,” she muttered. “It’s just a bunch of old people making stupid conversation.”

Allison had to suppress a smile. Krysta would probably class her with the old people and be surprised to learn Allison felt very much the same.

“Don’t talk like that.” The words should have been a reprimand, but instead they sounded like a plea. “You know I wanted you here to meet your cousin Allison and make her feel welcome.”

“Welcome!” Krysta threw off her mother’s hand with an impatient gesture. “Like anybody welcomes her. Why don’t you tell her the truth?” Her voice had risen, and Allison felt the embarrassment anyone experiences when someone else’s child is acting out in public.

She took a step back, and the movement seemed to draw Krysta’s fulminating gaze to her. The girl’s blue eyes narrowed. “You want to know why Evelyn left Blackburn House to you? I’ll tell you. She wanted to humiliate us, that’s why.”

Krysta’s voice had risen above the chatter of the crowd, and she seemed suddenly aware that people were staring at her.

“You are behaving like a child, Krysta Conner. Perhaps you’d better go to your room until you can manage to act like an adult.”

The woman who spoke had gray hair cut mannishly, a forbidding expression and a commanding voice. She stared Krysta down without apparent effort, and the girl turned and ran from the room, face flaming.

Forced chatter resumed as people cast sidelong glances at Brenda, whose face was nearly as scarlet as that of her daughter’s.

“Really, Julia, you didn’t need to speak to her that way.” Brenda’s protest was muted.

“Someone had to. It should have come from you. You’re her mother. I’d suggest you develop some backbone before that headstrong daughter of yours does something you’ll both regret.”

For an instant Allison thought Brenda would flare out. Then she shook her head and carried her plate over to a side table.

The woman flashed a glance at Allison. “I always think one of the privileges of getting to be an ugly old woman is being able to say what you really think. I’m Julia Everly. I was a friend of your grandmother’s.” Her smile showed patently false teeth and gave her a shark-like look. “Well, sometimes we were friends and sometimes enemies. At least we were never boring.”

Allison couldn’t help laughing. “I can readily believe that.”

Julia gave an unrepentant grin. “You’re wondering why your grandmother left Blackburn House to you. Trust me, it wasn’t because of anything Brenda and Krysta said or did.”

Allison studied her. Despite what she’d said, Julia wasn’t exactly ugly. With her round, wrinkled face and bright eyes she resembled an intelligent monkey. She would never have had the kind of classic beauty that Evelyn must have possessed, but she was instantly likeable.

“Is this a guessing game or do you know why my grandmother left it to me?” she demanded, suspecting Julia preferred people to be as direct as she was.

The woman shrugged. “Can’t say I knew everything she was thinking. Evelyn had a way of keeping her own counsel when she wanted. But I do know that she’d always planned to make provision for you. When your mother remarried, she said to me, ‘Julia, that little girl will be all right now, so I won’t rock the boat. But when I go, I’ll see that she’s taken care of.’”

That didn’t answer all of her questions, but it was more helpful than anything else she’d learned since she came to Laurel Ridge. So, her grandmother had known about her life, even without contacting her. And she’d at least considered her.

She realized Julia was studying her face and spoke quickly. “Thank you. I appreciate your telling me.”

Julia squeezed her hand, and Allison felt the woman’s cluster of rings bite into her fingers. “Don’t you let anybody rush you into any decisions. That’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Come to lunch one day, and we’ll talk. I’ll call you.”

“Thank you,” she said, before it occurred to her that she’d planned to be gone in a week’s time. But nothing seemed as clear-cut now as it had when she’d made that plan.

By the time an hour had passed, Allison had been introduced to so many people and had made so much meaningless chatter that her head felt about to split. She caught a passing server and asked directions to a powder room, thinking to escape the noise for a few minutes.

The girl pointed vaguely to the back of the center hallway, and Allison walked quickly in that direction. Surely she’d been here long enough to satisfy the demands of courtesy. She’d find Brenda and make her excuses.

She opened the door at the end of the hall, took one step forward and froze. She’d wandered into the sunroom Tommy had spoken of, and she wasn’t alone. T.J. and Krysta were sprawled on a wicker sofa, with the girl’s dress pulled up nearly to her waist.

The door swung shut behind her, and they both turned at the sound. T.J., eyes heavy-lidded and mouth swollen, looked both older and more dangerous than the prep-school image he’d projected earlier, while Krysta, paradoxically, looked younger and more vulnerable. She scrambled to her feet, smoothing her dress down.

“I told you we shouldn’t.” Krysta’s voice quavered.

“Didn’t figure on somebody spying on us.” T.J. got to his feet and took a swaggering step toward Allison. “What is it to you, anyway?”

“It’s nothing to me what you do, T.J.” Allison kept her voice even. “But Krysta is my cousin.”

Krysta seemed to regain her persona now that she was decently covered. “I don’t need a cousin like you.” She practically spat the words.

“I’m not thrilled with the relationship myself,” Allison said. “Get back to the party, and I won’t say anything to your mother.”

Krysta glared at her for a moment. Allison didn’t move. It would take more than a couple of spoiled teenagers to make her back down.

Finally, muttering a vulgarity that Allison chose to ignore, Krysta ran out of the sunroom. T.J. gave her a head start, then strolled toward the door, brushing against Allison deliberately. Then he was gone.

Allison let out a long breath. It had begun to seem that for every friend she made in this place, she racked up twice as many enemies. But Krysta, no matter how sulky and spoiled, was her cousin, and she couldn’t pretend that didn’t mean something to her, no matter how inconvenient.

* * *

IT HAD BEEN a mistake to let his mother anywhere near Allison Standish, Nick decided as he drove to the bed-and-breakfast to pick up Allison for supper the next evening. Not that he could have prevented it.

He might have known Mom couldn’t resist the temptation to start mothering Allison. Ellen Whiting collected strays the way some women collected shoes. It never seemed to occur to her that some of them might not want to be gathered up in her motherly embrace.

He hadn’t missed the expression on Allison’s face when his mother insisted he’d come for her. It had probably mirrored his own. Well, they were both stuck.

He’d be polite to Allison, of course. He just didn’t want to be entangled with the woman. She might very easily prove to be bad news for all of them. If she found some way of selling Blackburn House, he didn’t doubt that Thomas Blackburn would be waiting to snatch it up. He’d made no secret of the fact that he intended to buy the place as soon as probate was settled. He just hadn’t known that Allison would be the one to inherit. Heaven only knew what plans he might have for the place.

And if Allison herself decided to run it, he could hardly think the situation would be much better. She had no knowledge of how things functioned in a town like Laurel Ridge, and obviously no desire to learn.

He’d presented his role as mayor lightly when Allison had asked about it, but it wasn’t as simple as he’d made it sound. He’d run for office because he thought Laurel Ridge needed protection from those who advocated change at any cost. Not that he was a reactionary, but Laurel Ridge was a good place to live and to raise a child. It deserved people in power who appreciated its positive qualities and took thought for its future instead of running after short-term profits.

All things considered, the inhabitants of Blackburn House might be better off with Brenda Conner in charge. She was so obsessed with turning herself into the social leader her aunt had been that she’d be unlikely to rock the boat.

He stopped in front of the bed-and-breakfast, got out and took a deep breath, feeling like someone who’d been coerced into a blind date with a buddy’s visiting cousin. That sort of thing never worked out well.

By the time he reached the porch, Allison was coming to meet him. At least she hadn’t kept him waiting. He’d give her points for punctuality.

She stepped forward to face him, and his breath caught. He’d have to change the comparison. This wasn’t in the least like going out with someone’s ugly duckling cousin. Allison wore a dress of sea green that matched her eyes and swirled around her legs with every movement. Her hair swirled as well, swinging glossy and smooth as silk, and the heels she wore made her legs seem to go on forever. With an effort, he tore his gaze from those legs—a little late, judging by her expression.

“Is there something wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“Trust me, there’s nothing at all wrong.” She might be a bit overdressed for a simple supper at the Whiting household, but that didn’t mean her appearance wouldn’t be appreciated.

When they reached the car, he opened the door for her and raised an eyebrow when she slid in without comment.

“Aren’t you going to tell me you can open car doors by yourself?” He leaned against the frame of the door, looking down at her.

She smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your mother.”