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Everyone in the room laughed, except Jamie, who didn’t want to hurt the boy’s feelings—and Trevor, she noted peripherally. “Still playing the field, are you, Sam? That’s understandable from a handsome young guy like you.”
Though he didn’t appear to quite understand Jamie’s comment, Sam seemed satisfied to have momentarily claimed her attention. He stood close to her side when she turned to greet the others. She wasn’t particularly surprised to see the police chief, Wade Davenport, and his wife, Emily. Emily was Caleb’s niece, and had been a year behind Jamie in school. She had been the only McBride of her generation who had stayed and settled in Honoria instead of moving on in search of greener pastures. Trevor, of course, was the only one who had returned after moving away—for reasons Jamie couldn’t help being curious about.
“How are you, Emily?” she asked.
Holding a baby no more than a few months old in her arms, the pretty, blue-eyed blonde beamed with visible contentment. “I’m fine, thank you, Jamie. You know my husband, Wade, of course?”
Jamie glanced at the solidly built, ruggedly attractive, thirty-something cop. “Hello, Chief. Caught any dangerous criminals lately?”
He gave her a lazy smile. “Not since I stopped you for speeding last week.”
Hearing what might have been a faint sigh from Trevor, Jamie pouted for effect. “I was only going five miles over the speed limit.”
“You were doing sixty in a forty-five zone and you know it,” Wade retorted. “I let you off easy by only citing you for five-miles-over. Next time, I won’t be so generous.”
“Wade, Jamie just saved my grandson’s life,” Caleb chided. “Is it really necessary to threaten her this evening?”
“It wasn’t a threat—just a warning.”
Jamie smiled and stuck out her hand to him. “Warning heeded. I’ll watch my speed from now on. And no hard feelings, Chief.”
“Of course not.” Wade shook her hand, then waved toward the red-haired lad sitting on the couch and playing a handheld electronic game. “This is my son, Clay. Boy, remember your manners, will you? Come shake hands with Ms. Flaherty.”
Clay Davenport, whom Jamie judged to be around eleven, somewhat reluctantly set the game aside and rose. “Hello, Ms. Flaherty,” he said, gravely shaking Jamie’s hand.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Clay.”
“Ms. Flaherty’s aunt was your fourth-grade teacher,” Wade informed his son.
Jamie’s smile deepened. “I think my aunt Ellen has taught every fourth-grader in Honoria for the past couple of generations.”
Clay shook his head. “My friend Pete had Mrs. Simmons.”
“She didn’t mean it literally, Clay,” Emily murmured, laying an affectionate hand on her stepson’s shoulder while cradling her infant daughter in her other arm. “How is your aunt, Jamie?”
“I talked to her yesterday. You know she and Uncle Bill are spending the summer in North Carolina? They love it there.”
“I’m happy to hear it. I understand she’s retiring after this coming school year.”
“Yes, they’re thinking about relocating permanently to a condo in North Carolina.”
“They’ll be missed here.”
Jamie was admiring baby Claire when Bobbie bustled into the room, immediately taking over with her brusque, authoritative manner. “Hello, Jamie. Glad you could make it. Dinner’s about ready. All I have to do is set everything out. Give me five minutes. Trevor, I think I heard Abbie fussing.”
Trevor nodded and moved toward the doorway. “I was just about to go check on her.”
“I’ll help you get dinner on the table, Aunt Bobbie,” Emily offered, handing the baby to her husband.
Jamie stepped forward. “Is there anything I can do?”
Bobbie shook her head. “Thank you, dear, but you’re our guest this evening. Visit with the men for a few minutes and we’ll call everyone when it’s time to eat.”
Jamie was left in the living room with Caleb, Sam, Wade, Clay and baby Claire. Sam still stood beside her, staring up at her in a way that reminded her of Eddie, the funny little terrier on the TV series Frasier. She was almost tempted to pat his head.
Caleb waved a hand toward the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable, Jamie. Can I get you anything to drink before dinner?”
“No, thank you.” She settled on one end of the comfortably overstuffed couch. Sam scrambled onto the cushion beside her. Caleb sank into a worn-looking recliner that was obviously “his” chair, while Wade chose a wooden rocking chair for himself and his daughter. Clay sat cross-legged on the floor, his attention fully reclaimed by his electronic game.
Never one to savor silence, Jamie spoke up. “How are Tara and Trent, Mr. McBride? It’s been ages since I’ve seen either of them.”
Caleb seemed pleased that she’d asked about his other two offspring. “Tara and a partner have a small law practice in Atlanta. Tara’s married to an unorthodox private investigator—Blake Fox—and they’re expecting their first child soon.”
Though Tara had been a few years ahead of her in school and they hadn’t known each other well, Jamie wasn’t surprised to hear that Tara was a successful attorney. She’d been an overachiever—just like her brother, Jamie thought as Trevor came back into the room carrying little Abbie. He sat on the opposite end of the couch, on the other side of Sam, balancing the toddler on his knee.
“Trent,” Caleb continued, as if there had been no interruption, “graduated from the air force academy. He’s training to be a fighter pilot, stationed in California right now, but he’s hoping for a transfer to Aviano, Italy, soon.”
“I doubt that his mother likes that.”
Caleb chuckled. “You’ve got that right. She complains frequently that all her children moved away from Honoria as soon as they graduated high school. She’s delighted, of course, that Trevor has come home to us so she can see the grandkids as often as she likes.”
Jamie turned to watch Trevor as he smoothed Abbie’s nap-rumpled hair. The ease of his movements spoke of experience, and made her see him more clearly as a single father, solely responsible for two very young and very vulnerable children. It was up to him, she mused, to make sure that they were fed, bathed and clothed, to take them to the doctor and the dentist, to tuck them into bed, dry their tears and soothe their fears. Having never been accountable for anyone but herself—not even a pet—Jamie could hardly imagine such awesome responsibility.
She wondered again about the children’s mother, who had died so tragically young. Trevor’s wife. Was he still in mourning for her? Had he returned to Honoria for his mother’s help with his children, or to escape the painful memories of his wife and the home they had shared in Washington? Maybe a little of both?
When she found herself wondering if he would ever fall in love again, she abruptly redirected her train of thought.
She turned to Wade. “I heard, of course, that Emily’s brother Lucas reappeared a couple of years ago. The town gossips must have had a field day.”
Wade nodded. “He came back for Christmas and stayed to attend our wedding on New Year’s Eve, eighteen months ago. And, yeah, the gossips nearly wore out their tongues when he showed up out of the blue after being gone fifteen years. More than half the town believed he’d murdered Roger Jennings before he left, and they weren’t too happy to hear he’d come back.”
“From what I’ve heard, he’s back in the town’s good graces now that everyone knows it was Roger’s uncle who was the real murderer. I could hardly believe that. Sam Jennings was my dentist when I was a kid! Who could have imagined then that he’d already killed twice and would kill again?”
“Lucas’s innocence certainly swayed public opinion in his favor,” Trevor commented dryly. “But not as much, perhaps, as the fact that he made himself a fortune in the California computer industry while he was away. The snobs were much more gracious to the rich businessman than they had been to the rebel he’d been before he left town.”
“That I believe,” Jamie murmured, thinking of times in the past when she had been shunned because of her own less-than-ideal family background. Being the only daughter of two alcoholics whose marital battles had been well know in the community, Jamie knew what it was like to grow up outside the tight social cliques in this town. “I’m glad Lucas has done well for himself. I understand he and Rachel Jennings were married and live in California.”
“They seem very happy,” Caleb agreed. “Lucas needed someone like Rachel to calm him down. He was always so hotheaded and volatile, and she’s so calm and restrained—they offset each other very well. They announced just last week that they’re expecting a baby. It’ll be interesting to see what kind of father Lucas makes.”
“Your family is growing rapidly,” Jamie commented.
Caleb nodded in visible satisfaction. As the only surviving member of his generation, he must be pleased that the McBride name would carry on, Jamie decided.
“Uncle Lucas designed this game,” young Clay remarked, proving that he’d been monitoring the adults’ conversation while seemingly engrossed in his toy. “It’s called a Rebelcom and it’s way cool.”
“You’ll have to show it to me after dinner,” Jamie suggested. “I have a weakness for cool electronics.”
Clay nodded and pushed another game button, returning to his play.
“I got one, too,” Sam piped up. “For my birthday. You can see mine, if you come to my house.”
Jamie smiled down at her young admirer. “Maybe I’ll do that sometime.”
She didn’t look at Trevor as she spoke, though she wondered how he felt about his son inviting her to their house.
“So now I’ve asked about all the McBride cousins except Savannah,” she commented, turning back to Caleb. “I know from the grapevine that she married the writer Christopher Pace and they divide their time between L.A. and Georgia. I assume she’s doing well?”
Caleb nodded at the mention of his late brother’s only daughter. “Savannah’s fine. Seems happy as a clam. Her husband is a decent guy, even if he does hang out some with those Hollywood types.”
Smiling, Jamie asked, “And her twins?”
“Teenagers now. Good kids, both of them, and they’re crazy about Kit. He legally adopted them. I sort of hated to see them give up the McBride name, but it seems to have made them feel more like a family, so I guess they made the right decision.”
Jamie hadn’t forgotten the big scandal when Savannah McBride, head cheerleader, homecoming queen, beauty pageant winner and pampered princess, had become pregnant with twins when she was sixteen. Jamie had been only ten or eleven at the time, but everyone in Honoria had known about Savannah’s predicament and the controversy that had ensued when she’d named Vince Hankins as the father—an accusation the high-school jock had cravenly denied. Jamie was glad Savannah and her children had turned out all right.
The McBrides had been providing fodder for the town gossips for years, she mused. It had been something that had made her feel a kinship with them, since she’d been the subject of some avid gossip herself during her admittedly reckless teen years.
“You haven’t mentioned your family yet this evening,” Caleb said, politely directing the conversations away from his own clan. “How is your mother?”
“She’s fine.” Jamie knew her tone had become stilted, but it always did when she talked of her mother. “She’s living in Birmingham now, close to her sister.”
“And your father?”
She felt her neck muscles tighten even more when she replied. “Last I heard, he was living in Montana. We don’t really stay in touch.”
“I see.”
There was a brief, awkward silence, which seemed to hold for several tense moments. Then Abbie laughed and babbled something, baby Claire fussed and Bobbie came into the room to announce that dinner was served. Relieved to have the attention diverted from herself, Jamie lifted her chin, pasted on a bright smile and rose to join the others as they moved toward the dining room.
THE MAIN COURSE was well under way by the time Trevor reached the conclusion that his son was seriously smitten. Sam had hardly taken his eyes off Jamie since she’d arrived. Unfortunately, Trevor was having a similar problem.
He knew what he saw in Jamie—the same things he’d noticed even back in high school. He couldn’t imagine any normal male being entirely immune to Jamie Flaherty’s less-than-subtle sexuality. But he wondered what it was about her that held his boy so enthralled. Her bright red hair—which, he recalled, had been a medium brown when he’d known her before? Her easy laugh and quick, expressive movements? The fact that she had saved Sam’s life?
Jamie couldn’t have been more opposite—outwardly, at least—to Trevor’s late wife, Melanie. Melanie had been quiet, dignified, so prim and neatly groomed as to be almost porcelain perfect. She’d had a sense of humor, but it had been understated, restrained. If someone had put them side by side, one might have compared Jamie to the sun—bright, conspicuous, hot—and Melanie to the moon—pale, quiet, cool. Like the moon, Melanie had kept her dark side hidden, even from her husband.
Abbie interrupted his uncharacteristic daydreaming by banging her spoon on the tray of her high chair. She squealed in delight at the ensuing clang and did it again. Trevor reached over to catch her hand. “No, Abbie. Eat,” he said, redirecting her attention to the bite-size pieces of food on the unbreakable plate in front of her.
Gazing at him with blue eyes that were exactly like her mother’s, Abbie gave him a slobbery grin. “Daddy,” she said.
His throat contracted, a now-familiar mixture of love and heartache he often felt when he looked at his tiny daughter. “Eat your dinner, Abbie,” he repeated a bit gruffly, holding a slice of banana to her rosy lips.
Once she was busy with her food again, he turned back to his own plate. His gaze collided abruptly with Jamie’s across the table, and he resisted the impulse to squirm in his seat. He couldn’t read her expression, but he had the uncomfortable sensation that she saw entirely too much when she looked at him.
As was often the case, Bobbie dominated the dinner conversation. Trevor loved his mother and knew she had a kind heart and a generous nature, but he wasn’t blind to her bossiness or her penchant for being a little overbearing. While there were a few people who couldn’t stand her, most folks overlooked her shortcomings in favor of her many good qualities. She’d been teaching in elementary school since before Trevor was born, and few questioned her competence—or her knack for running the most efficient and well-behaved classrooms in the school.
At the moment, she was on a diatribe about an incident that had happened to her through the locally owned bank where Emily had worked for several years, before quitting to be a full-time mother.
“All this new technology that’s supposed to make things easier for the customers—it’s just a lot of garbage,” Bobbie said bluntly. “I called yesterday to see if a check had cleared, and I spent forty-five minutes on the telephone with some girl giving me directions on how to use the new automated teller service. I told her I don’t want to talk to a recorded teller, and she said I had to learn how, because it would be much more ‘convenient’ for me in the long run. I want to know what’s ‘convenient’ about having to punch in a half-dozen code numbers and then listen to a recording I can hardly understand, hmm? She could have given me the information I needed in less than five minutes. Laziness, that’s what it is. No one wants to provide personal service anymore.”
“The automated teller system really isn’t that complicated once you learn it, Aunt Bobbie,” Emily responded, but even she didn’t look particularly convinced by her words.
“‘Automated teller.”’ The very term seemed to enrage Bobbie. “I’ll tell you the same as I told that girl. If everything’s going to be automated down there, why do they need a staff?”
“She’s got a point there, Emily,” Wade murmured, seeming to enjoy his wife’s discomfort.
Having gotten her complaint out of her system, Bobbie abruptly changed the subject. “I talked to Arnette Lynch yesterday,” she said, looking at Jamie as she mentioned the recently retired high-school drama teacher.
“How is her husband?” Jamie inquired politely.
“Still very weak from his chemotherapy treatments, I’m afraid, but Arnette said she thought he was feeling a bit better. She’s confident she made the right decision in retiring.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“I’m so glad you were available to take her place. The students are thrilled to have a real theater veteran teaching them.”
“I enjoy working with young actors,” Jamie responded. “They’re so eager and energetic. And some of them are quite talented.”
“What does talent have to do with casting an Honoria High School production?” Emily asked dryly. “Mrs. Lynch always gave the lead roles to the students from the most prominent local families, regardless of whether they could act or sing.”
Bobbie frowned. “That’s not a very kind thing to say, Emily.”
“But it’s true, Aunt Bobbie. I saw the performance of West Side Story last fall, remember? Mayor McQuade’s strawberry-blond, freckled daughter Joannie played Maria. No way did she look Puerto Rican—and the poor girl couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag.”
“Couldn’t sing worth a flip, either,” Caleb muttered. “Sounded like a cat with its tail caught in a wringer. It was all I could do to sit through the whole show—and that was only because Bobbie had a death grip on my arm to keep me from leaving.”
“Mrs. Lynch cast the popular, socially prominent kids back when I was in high school,” Trevor agreed bluntly. “Everyone always knew who would have the best roles—and they were rarely the best qualified.”
Jamie nodded somberly. “You never saw me hold the lead role at good ol’ HHS, did you?”
Trevor thought he heard a touch of old resentment in her voice.
“I was always lucky to get a few lines,” she continued, “even though Mrs. Lynch told me several times that she thought I had real talent.”
Wade, who’d moved to Honoria only a couple of years earlier, looked startled. “If she thought you had talent, how did she justify not giving you better roles?”
Jamie shrugged, and Trevor suspected there was a world of emotion hidden behind her matter-of-fact tone. “She said she would face too much controversy if she tried to buck the established system. She was afraid it would cut into her contributions and jeopardize her ability to fund her productions. She knew my folks wouldn’t put up a fuss if I was slighted—unlike, say, the O’Briens or some of the other local society leaders.”
Wade scowled. “Sounds like it was long past time for her to retire.”
“She did the best she could,” Bobbie said in defense of her colleague. “You know how difficult it can be to challenge the established order, Wade. You’ve had your share of criticism because you refuse to look the other way when some of the richer folks bend a few laws.”
“The laws aren’t any different for people with money than they are for people without,” Wade said flatly.
Emily looked speculatively at Jamie. “I hear you’re planning to do Grease in the spring. You know Joannie McQuade’s going to demand the role of Sandy.”
“None of my students will ‘demand’ a role—they’ll audition,” Jamie asserted. “If they’re good, they’ll get a part. If they show potential, I’ll work with them until they’re ready. If they show no glimmer of talent, I’ll let them be extras, or assign them other responsibilities. There are a lot of interesting jobs in theater besides acting—lighting, set design and construction, sound, publicity, costumes, stage management.”
“You’d make Joannie McQuade an extra?” Wide-eyed, Emily shook her head. “Her mother will be at the school to try to get you fired before you can say, ‘Cut!”’
