The Inn at Eagle Point

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“Because you’re married? At least I assume with kids, there must be a husband in the picture.”

“There was,” she admitted, regretting the divorce for a fleeting moment, if only because she sensed the existence of a husband would get that wicked gleam out of Trace’s eyes.

“Separated? Divorced?” he asked, as he removed containers of chopped salad from the bags he’d brought. Without asking, he went about dishing the salad onto the formal, gold-trimmed china Gram had put on the table.

“Divorced,” she said, gritting her teeth against the personal turn the conversation was taking. “Look, we’re here to discuss the inn, not my life.”

“Just catching up,” he said, as he reached into a second bag and removed a container of what appeared to be the yacht club’s decadent chocolate mousse, one of Abby’s all-time favorite desserts. Sometimes that mousse had been the only way Trace or her family could lure her into that stuffy atmosphere. They’d even ladled an extra dollop of whipped cream onto the top, just the way she liked it.

She frowned as he set it in front of her place. How had he remembered that? And why had he bothered? Was this just another way to get to her, to throw her off-kilter right before he hit her with some other blow she wasn’t expecting?

She waited warily until he sat down, then asked, “What’s going on here, Trace?”

He regarded her innocently. “We were supposed to meet over lunch. I brought lunch. I don’t see anything sinister in that. In fact, I thought I was being downright considerate given that your kids are sick. Twins, right? I think that’s what Liz said.”

“Carrie and Caitlyn,” she said tightly, still not entirely trusting all this thoughtfulness. “They came down with the measles yesterday. In fact, they should be waking up soon from their naps, so we need to get our business out of the way. Did the board meet?”

“They did.”

“Don’t make me drag this out of you. Just tell me what they decided.”

“Everything remains in place, as long as you’re on board.”

Abby wasn’t sure why she’d been hoping for a reprieve. Maybe she’d thought that collectively the board might see through Trace’s scheme and overrule him. Obviously she hadn’t taken into account his persuasiveness or his determination.

Swallowing her desire to start another argument she wouldn’t win, she leveled a look at him. “How do you see this working? I do have a career, Trace, and it’s in New York. I can easily oversee all the expenditures from there, stay on top of payments and so on.”

He shook his head. “Not good enough. Come on, Abby, you know Jess. The second your back is turned, she’ll go right back to her impulsive spending, and you’ll be scrambling to cover for her.”

She regarded him earnestly. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. You have my word on it.”

“Not good enough.”

She bristled at that. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve had some experience with how unreliable your word is, remember?”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s another situation entirely. And besides, I never gave you my word about anything ten years ago.”

“You told me you loved me. I took you seriously.”

“I did love you,” she said, frustrated by his determination to use old news to manipulate the present.

“And yet you vanished without so much as a goodbye, much less an explanation. I’m not taking any chances on that happening again, not until the bank feels comfortable that these loans are protected.”

“You mean until you feel comfortable,” she said. “It has nothing to do with what anyone at the bank needs. There’s plenty of cash in the inn’s account to cover expenses, and you know it. This is payback, pure and simple, Trace, and I resent it. You’re taking out our drama, if you want to call it that, on my sister. You know perfectly well she’ll pay back every penny of those loans. So does the bank. This is about you and me.”

“Is it really?” he said, his expression innocent.

“I had no idea you could be so vindictive and hateful.”

“Which just goes to prove that we never really knew each other at all, because I didn’t have any idea you were capable of being cruel and a coward.”

His words cut right through her. She knew she deserved them, because that was exactly what she had been, cruel and cowardly. That didn’t make it any easier to hear them or to have them coming back to haunt her all these years later.

She regarded him with bewilderment. “If you think so little of me, why on earth do you want me around here now?”

“Because you were always the most intriguing, infuriating person in Chesapeake Shores,” he said. “I figure your presence will keep the next few months from being boring.”

“So, what—I’m the mouse and you’re the big bad cat who gets to toy with me just for entertainment?”

“Something like that.”

She stood up, shaking with indignation. “You’re despicable,” she said, grabbing the crystal pitcher filled with ice water.

His gaze narrowed. “You really don’t want to do that,” he warned.

“Oh, but I do,” she countered, dumping the contents over his head. She gave him a considering look as he sat there drenched, his expression startled. Then she smiled in satisfaction. “Yep, that was exactly what I wanted to do.”

Then she whirled around and went upstairs to check on the girls. Pleased with her little demonstration of temper, she was taken aback when she heard his laughter echoing after her.

She met Gram in the hallway.

“What’s going on?” her grandmother asked.

“I just dumped a pitcher of water over Trace’s head.”

Her grandmother’s eyes twinkled, but she fought to contain a grin. “Was that wise?”

Abby sighed. “Probably not, but it felt darn good.”

Thinking of how she—and perhaps even Jess—were likely to pay for it, though, made her just the tiniest bit nervous.

6

Making himself at home, Trace wandered into the kitchen, found a dishtowel to mop up his face and sop some of the water from his shirt, then took another towel into the dining room to clean up the mess there. He regarded the dish of chocolate mousse with regret. It hadn’t exactly turned out to be the peace offering he’d intended it to be.

“Chocolate mousse? Abby’s favorite,” Nell O’Brien noted as she walked into the dining room and spotted it in his hand. “Nice touch, though I imagine suggesting the yacht club for your meeting was your idea of a power play. You know perfectly well she hates that place.”

He winced at the accuracy of her comment. “None of it worked out quite the way I’d planned,” he commented wryly.

“I don’t suppose she poured that pitcher of water over your head because you brought her dessert,” she said.

“No, I believe it had more to do with a few unflattering things I said to her.”

She shook her head. “You two act like you’re six and still on the playground. Go in the kitchen and take off your shirt. I’ll throw it into the dryer, and then maybe I’ll give you a few tips on handling my granddaughter.”

Trace frowned at her, not entirely trusting the seemingly magnanimous offer. Nell hadn’t been one of his biggest fans ten years ago. He couldn’t imagine why that would suddenly change.

“Why would you do that?” he asked.

“Because it’s obvious to me that the two of you will manage to mess it up for a second time, if you’re left to your own devices,” she said with more than a touch of impatience. “And I’d like to see my granddaughter happy.”

“What is it you think we’re going to mess up?” Trace asked, though he knew she wasn’t talking about their new and mostly awkward business relationship.

She merely rolled her eyes, as if she found the question ridiculous, the answer obvious. “Go,” she ordered.

Trace left, stripping off his shirt as he went. Nell carried in a tray filled with the remains of their aborted lunch and set it on the counter, then took the shirt from him and tossed it into the dryer.

“Shall we have a cup of tea while we wait?” she asked, not waiting for his reply as she put cups on the table and started pouring.

Trace was smart enough not to object to the ritual. He’d learned years ago that Abby’s grandmother marched to her own drummer and it was best to go along. Those who didn’t want to do that at least had the good sense to stay out of her way.