Читать книгу Second To None - Muriel Jensen - Страница 8
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
VERONICA BIT INTO a buttery cream cheese pastry and moaned her approval.
Colette put down her coffee cup and indicated the few crumbs on her paper plate. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful? I’ve probably gained ten pounds since Shea started testing recipes for the tasting room and the restaurant.”
Veronica chewed and swallowed, thinking that no one could look better at 7:00 a.m. than Colette did—and there was no evidence of an extra ten pounds on her. She had bright, curly red hair that framed a finefeatured face and lively gray eyes. Her warmth had appealed to Veronica the moment they’d first met, and had gone a long way toward diminishing her loneliness. During their several lunches in Portland, a friendship had been born.
“You must burn it all off working on the vineyard. Is Shea going to cook for the B-and-B, too?”
“No, Rachel’s going to do that. Shea’s swamped with last-minute preparations. The restaurant opens when Tate and I—and the girls—get back from our honeymoon.”
“There’s so much happening here.”
Colette smiled thoughtfully. “When Tate and his brothers first inherited the winery, I knew everything was going to be different. The Delancey brothers have so much energy and enthusiasm, and I expected to hate seeing things changed and tourists swarming the place.” Veronica could sense the moment when Colette’s thoughts began to focus on Tate, because she heaved a deep sigh that was all contentment and anticipation. “But now I feel as though my life’s been recharged. As though...” She paused, presumably to grope for words, then apparently decided the thought was too big for them. She smiled at Veronica. “Anyway, it’s wonderful here. I know you’ll be happy. And don’t worry about Mike. He’s really a wonderful man.”
Veronica wasn’t so sure about that. “I understand why he was suspicious of me,” she said, reaching for her coffee. “But I hope he’s not going to act that way around the kids.”
“He’s good with children,” Colette assured her. “My girls love him. I think his reluctance to have a day care center here has something to do with his days as a cop.”
Veronica waited, interested.
Colette looked grim. “He was a hostage negotiator. I don’t know all the details, but this druggie killed his wife and children while Mike was trying to talk him out of it. Mike knows it wasn’t his fault, but he still blames himself.”
Veronica could only imagine the horror of that experience. Watching children suffer when you couldn’t do anything to help them must be unbearable. “How awful,” she said.
“Yeah.” Colette pushed away from the table. “He’s trying hard to move forward, but it’s got to be difficult Come on. Let’s go look at the barn again.”
THE BARN WAS HUGE but somehow friendly. Veronica loved knowing that it had been built more than a hundred years ago, that animals had been cared for here, that someone had sat here on frosty mornings and milked a cow, or groomed a horse. Her own life had been a very urban experience, but a part of her had always longed for life in the country.
She smiled. Almost every little girl wanted to own a horse or play in a barn, but she guessed few had embraced those dreams for the same reasons she had. At least, she hoped not.
“I told Tate about the partitioning you’d like in here, and he’s sketching out a plan.” Colette walked across the concrete floor, looking up at the loft. “If you approve it, the work can probably be done by the wedding.”
“You did explain that I’m coming to this with extremely little capital?” Veronica tore her mind from the dreams she had for the space and back to reality. “I can’t afford architects from Boston.”
Colette dismissed that with a curve of her lips. “He wanted to use the barn for something, and I think he’s happy to have another project.” She walked to the right side of the building and stretched her arms out to indicate the area. “I told him you wanted to be able to bring the playground equipment inside during the winter.”
Veronica followed her. “Right.” Then she pointed to the other side. “And a big room for general play, then two smaller rooms for naps.”
“Right.”
Colette gestured toward the loft. “I wondered if you might want to turn that into an apartment for yourself? Then if parents run late or want to come in early, you won’t have to worry about the commute. I know you just got your apartment, and it’s not far—but fifteen minutes is fifteen minutes. What do you think?”
No travel and being able to look at the view of the vineyard anytime she wanted? Veronica was touched by Colette’s thoughtfulness. “I’d love it, of course,” she said, “but you don’t think everyone else will think I’m...intruding?”
Colette laughed lightly. “We’re all ‘intruders.’ Rachel lives here because her husband was a friend of Jack’s. He invited her to stay after her husband died and left her broke. I came when my husband passed away so my father could help me with the girls, and I could work with the grapes. And Tate and his brothers are here because Jack disappeared and they finally inherited the place.” She paused. “The crew can do your apartment first so you can be here to watch over the rest of it.”
“I’d love that,” Veronica admitted unashamedly.
“Great. And we’ll carpet for you, too. Something tweedy that won’t show every little spot but will be easy to clean and still protect the little darlings when they fall.”
Veronica eyed the floor. “That’ll cost a bundle.”
“Tate has connections. You still want to do the painting yourself?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay.”
The arrangement was far better than okay. She gave Colette a big hug. “I don’t know how I blundered into such good deal, but I’m so grateful. I had a feeling the day I met you that you were going to become an important part of my life.”
Colette held her in the hug a moment longer. “So was I. I didn’t know then that you’d left the convent so recently, but I thought I recognized a kindred spirit. I’ve had to start over against difficult odds, but I had my girls and my father. You’re all alone.”
Veronica drew back and smiled. “I don’t feel all alone anymore. Thanks for caring so much.”
Colette looped an arm through hers and started toward the door. “Actually, I have a ulterior motive. I need a favor from you.”
“Anything.”
“Will you stand up for me at my wedding?”
Veronica stopped several yards from the door. Sun beamed in on them from grimy windows. “Are you teasing?”
“Of course not.” Colette shrugged as she prepared to explain. “I moved here two and half years ago, but for most of that time, I’ve worked long hours. I’ve made acquaintances in town, but no real friends. I feel as though I know you as well as anyone. Will you? We’re getting married on July third.”
Veronica felt joy bubbling through her. She was getting a life! “Of course. I’d be honored to.”
“Good. Do you have plans for this afternoon?”
“Nothing critical. I was just going to get paint and wallpaper samples.”
“How about if the girls and I meet you in town for lunch and we go dress shopping? No taffeta or chiffon, but something practical we can all wear again.”
Dress shopping with other women. That was something she’d never gotten to do in the convent. Or before. She agreed calmly as they walked out into the compound, knowing Colette probably wouldn’t understand a leap into the air and a click of her heels. The simple pleasure of shopping would be no big deal to anyone else.
“Where’s your car?” Colette asked.
Veronica pointed to the B-and-B. “I parked on the other side. I guess that’s why Mike didn’t see it when he went into the house.”
Colette put an arm around her shoulders. “That was good for him. Men are so sure of what they know. I think they need to be shocked every once in a while. I’ve got to get to work. See you this afternoon.”
Veronica walked across the sunny compound with a spring in her step. She did a full circuit of the fountain that stood in the middle surrounded by colorful pansies, then continued on her way, excited by ideas for the day care center. This was what she’d wanted for so long. She couldn’t believe it was actually happening.
Then, before she could feel too secure about her future, she spotted a tall, lean man propped against the trunk of her old, light blue compact, arms folded, ankles crossed. Mike.
She resumed her purposeful stride, unwilling to let him see he made her anxious. First, he was a man, and as a nun she’d had very little experience with them. She’d known priests, of course, as well as fathers of students and repairmen, but she hadn’t known men on an equal footing. Her veil had placed her on an untouchable level. Still, she’d experienced an attraction to him that was unlike anything she’d felt before. She’d found it both exciting and unsettling.
Second, she knew he didn’t want her here, and that was a major threat to her burgeoning self-confidence. And to the new life she was trying. to establish for herself. The life that might one day—if she was really lucky and determined—banish the loneliness forever.
He straightened away from the car as she approached, and she noticed things about him that her previous life had conditioned her to ignore. Broad shoulders stretching his Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt, formidable biceps, long, strong legs in old jeans. She remembered in vivid detail what it had felt like to be sprawled on top of him. Despite her inexperience, she hadn’t felt endangered—at least not physically.
“Hi,” she said. “I thought you were out of the business of giving parking tickets.”
He met her gaze, but didn’t smile. “I am,” he said finally. “I’m here to apologize.”
“That isn’t necessary. Your suspicions were understandable.”
He agreed with one perfunctory nod. “But I didn’t realize that you...”
She looked into his eyes and knew what had brought about this sudden and careful remoteness. Someone had told him about her. Though his apology was chivalrous, she regretted that it placed even more distance between them.
She went past him to put her key in the lock. “Well, it was either let me land on you or let me fall on my backside. I’m glad you chose the former.”
He held the door for her while she tossed her purse in. “I’m sorry I was rude.”
She was determined to put an end to this now. “There’s no need to keep apologizing. I was a nun, but I’m not that delicate.” She spread her arms, forcing him to look at her. “I’ve survived. If we’re going to be crossing paths, you’ll have to stop envisioning me in a black dress and a veil. All right?”
If she’d surprised him, it didn’t show. She guessed there probably wasn’t much that surprised a former cop.
“All right,” he said finally. “When does your day care open?”
“In about a month. Tate’s going to have some partitions put up, and the floor carpeted. Colette thought they’d be finished with that by the wedding. Then I have to paint and paper and move in some furniture.”
“You know, with Tate gone, I’ll be too busy to help you. Will you be able to manage on your own?”
She gave him smile that had nothing to do with mirth. “That’s my specialty. Anything else?”
“Get in,” he said. “I’ll close your door.”
Veronica couldn’t decide if that was courtesy on his part, or an eagerness to get rid of her. In any case, she reversed expertly into the compound, then drove away without a backward glance.
Except one in her rearview mirror, where Mike Delancey was nicely framed, a tall figure standing in front of the beautiful Victorian-style home.
He was not at all what her nicely developing future needed.
“TUXEDOS?” MIKE LOOKED at the sign above the rental shop as Tate, Shea and Armand walked in. “I thought we were wearing suits.”
Tate beckoned him inside. “Changed my mind. Colette was talking about her, Veronica, Rachel and the girls getting dresses they could wear again, and I decided we were being too casual about this. A wedding should be special—particularly a second one, where you get to apply all the lessons you learned during the first. So the ceremony should be bigger, better.”
Shea frowned over a pink cummerbund on a mannequin torso placed on a glass counter. “But there were eight hundred people at your first wedding. This is little country church.”
Tate gave Shea an impatient look.
“He means bigger and better in spirit,” Armand explained, paternally cuffing his shoulder. “In the approach to it.” Then he grinned at Tate. “A man after my own heart. It’s good to astonish women with your sensitivity once in a while. It prevents them from thinking they have the upper hand.”
Shea raised an eyebrow at Mike, as though asking if he understood what Armand was talking about. But Mike returned his attention to something else Tate had said. “Colette talked about her and Veronica getting dresses?”
Tate leaned over the counter, looking at the ties and ascots displayed inside. “Yeah,” he said absently. “Veronica’s her maid of honor.”
As Tate’s best man, Mike was less than delighted with that news. There seemed to be no escape from the woman he was certain would be a problem.
“I didn’t realize she knew her that well.”
“They’ve become good friends in a short time. She’s moving into the loft in the barn.”
Before Mike could comment, a small round man with a tape measure around his neck appeared from behind a curtain at the back of the shop. He eyed the four of them in a clinical way. “No pink or lavender accessories, and no ruffles, am I right?”
“You’re right,” Tate said, shaking his hand. “We’re after morning coats.”
“Fashionable choice. Let me get some measurements.”
Forty-five minutes later, the four men walked across French River’s main street.
“Now where?” Shea asked.
“We’re meeting the girls for coffee. We’re supposed to pick them up at the dress shop by the bank.”
“Don’t call them ‘girls,’” Shea advised him. “They don’t like that.”
“Megan and Katie are girls,” Tate disputed.
“Yeah, but don’t lump the women in with the girls. It gets you in trouble every time.”
Tate and Mike stopped short. Shea’s observation was clearly a commentary on the woman in San Francisco he consistently refused to talk about. “And how do you know this?” Tate asked.
“Experience.”
“With whom?”
“Doesn’t matter, just trust me.”
Tate met Mike’s eyes with a grin. “Thought I had him that time.”
Mike slapped Shea on the shoulder. “Someday she’s going to come looking for him, and we’ll see her for ourselves.”
Shea laughed scornfully. “Her last words to me consigned me to hell. I don’t think she’ll be dropping by any time soon.”
VERONICA STARED at her reflection in astonishment. She could hear giggles and playful banter as Colette helped her daughters into matching yellow organdy dresses in one dressing room. In another, Rachel, who’d been declared mother-of-the-bride for the occasion, was trying on a soft green chiffon with pleats.
But in this narrow cubicle with a mirror and an empty hanger dangling on a hook, Veronica looked at a total stranger—herself.
For twelve years, she’d worn the simple blue jumper, white shirt and blue veil of the Sisters of Faith and Charity. Then in the six months she’d been out of the convent, she’d taught an English-as-a-second-language class in two very plain suits, both navy blue, that had been given to her by the St. Vincent de Paul Society. When she’d moved to French River, she’d bought a few functional clothes at the thrift shop.
It was exciting to see herself in yellow. The dress was the chiffon Colette had insisted they didn’t want, until Tate had changed her mind for her. It had a simple round neck, a short, flirty, three-layered sleeve, a.nipped-in waist emphasized by appliqued flowers with seed-pearl centers and a full tea-length skirt.
The style flattered her tall, slender figure. And the color lent an apricot glow to her completion and a sparkle to her brown eyes.
But something had to be done about her hair. She tugged at the short do that skimmed her eyebrows and her earlobes, then lay in a simple, masculine cut in the back. Under a veil it had never mattered, but now she thought it shattered her fragile aura of femininity.
She heard Colette and the girls leave the dressing room and go into the shop to look in the big mirrors.
“How’re you doing, Rachel?” Colette called.
“I’m coming,” Rachel replied. “Looking like a very large grape leaf, but I’m coming.”
Veronica continued to stare at herself. It wasn’t vanity, but a sort of fascination. Not that she’d be wearing yellow chiffon every day, but this was the woman she could be when the occasion warranted. It amazed her.
“Vee?” Colette again.
“Coming,” she called back, fluffing her skirt and combing her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to give it a little height.
The first people she noticed when she walked into the shop were Colette’s daughters, standing together in front of the large mirror, looking like an Anne Geddes photograph. Their flat little torsos emerged from bouffant yellow skirts like the pistils in a lily. Megan, the eight-year-old, had rumpled braids, and Katie, seven, had a disheveled ponytail, though Veronica had been there half an hour ago when Colette had brushed it.
Veronica rushed forward to wrap her arms around them. Even when she’d finally realized she’d entered the convent for all the wrong reasons, she’d stayed because of the children constantly crowded around her.
“You are so beautiful!” she told the girls. “Oh, and you, too, Aunt Rachel.” Rachel stood to the side, fussing with the sash at her hips. She looked lovely, the dropped waist concealing her slight plumpness.
“But look at Mommy!” Megan said, pointing to the other side, where Colette stood.
She’d chosen a simple, fitted dress with a straight skirt of ecru lace. It was set off by a veiled pillbox hat perched atop her red hair, which was coiled into an elegant twist.
“You look like a magazine cover!” Veronica said.
“Well, look at you!” Colette exclaimed, then said to someone behind Veronica, “Isn’t this color perfect for her?”
Veronica turned, expecting to see the clerk who’d helped them make their selections. Instead she faced four watchful males, studying her with varying levels of interest.
Armand smiled at her with fatherly indulgence. “The bride will have competition for everyone’s attention,” he said with Old World gallantry.
Tate’s expression was fraternal as he moved across the room to put an arm around Colette. “If I didn’t have eyes only for this woman, I’d find out what you were doing after the wedding.”
The other man, who must be Shea, seemed stricken. “I know a woman who wore that color all the time.” He sighed, then seemed to pull himself together. “It looks even more wonderful on a brunette.”
Mike heard Tate say, “Aha! Now we know you’re carrying that torch for a blonde or a redhead.” But he was too distracted to join in the banter that followed.
The only thing on his mind was how much more difficult his life was going to be with Veronica around. She was beautiful. And though he’d briefly held that trim body in his arms, he hadn’t realized just how perfect it was.
Feelings he’d thought long dead weren’t dead at all. They were asleep. And waking up.
It wasn’t simply lust. That would be easy enough to deal with. This was interest...longing. Lust with depth and complications. He wanted to touch her, but he wanted to know her, too. What had sent her into a convent? What had brought her out again?
She’d been a nun. He’d seen things she probably couldn’t even imagine in her worst nightmares.
No. If he got to know her, she’d get to know him, and that might not be a good experience. It had certainly sent Lita, the last woman in his life, running in the opposite direction.
Anyway, he didn’t want anyone that close right now. He wasn’t ready. He might never be ready.
Katie came to take his hand, and smiled up at him, all freckles and sparkle. “Don’t you think she’s pretty, Uncle Mike?”
He couldn’t lie to a child or to a former woman of the cloth. “I think she’s beautiful, Katie,” he admitted, smoothing her hair.
The men decided to wait outside while the women changed. Mike couldn’t remember ever being so desperate for a breath of fresh air.
THE WEDDING PARTY FILLED the small coffee bar with laughter and loud conversation. Veronica sat in the midst of the din and thought how wonderful it was to be surrounded by such joyful noise.
Katie sat in Tate’s lap, Megan talked nonstop to Mike, and Shea, his moroseness banished, was having a serious discussion with Rachel about breakfast menus for the B-and-B.
Colette grinned at Veronica. “Those three are always charming the men,” she said with a jut of her chin in the direction of her daughters and Rachel. “We don’t stand a chance of getting any real attention.”
That was fine with Veronica. She just enjoyed watching the happy group.
She noticed the rapt attention Mike paid to Megan, and the little girl’s complete confidence that she had his interest. He might not want other children around the compound, but he certainly seemed to treasure Colette’s daughters.
“We’re starting on your loft tomorrow, Veronica,” Tate said from the far end of the table. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. “This is what I had in mind to make best use of the space. Will that work for you?”
Colette leaned toward Veronica as she unfolded the sheet and studied the rough blueprint for her new home. A bath and bedroom were side by side at the far end of the oblong space, a U-shaped kitchen took up the middle and a breakfast bar separated it from the living room at the front.
She noticed a narrow space that ran along the very edge of the loft. “What’s that?” she asked, holding up the sheet and pointing to the strip.
“It’s the gallery,” Katie answered. “For keeping books and plants and things. And it’s gonna have windows so you can see down into the day care.”
Colette looked startled. “You didn’t even tell me that,” she complained to Tate.
He shrugged. “You weren’t sitting in my lap when I did it.”
Colette poked a playful finger at her daughter. “That’s because someone else is always in it.”
Katie giggled and leaned back into Tate’s chest, apparently not feeling repentant.
“I think it’s wonderful!” Veronica folded the sheet and handed it back. “I appreciate all the trouble you’re going to for me.”
“We’re happy to have someone in the space. It’ll make the compound completely operational.”
“I can help you with a nutritional menu for the kids’ snacks and meals,” Shea offered. “And we can order your food with ours to make it more economical.”
“Shea’s the sweet one,” Colette said to Veronica in a stage whisper.
Shea pretended modesty.
There was simultaneous grousing from Tate and Mike.
“She plays up to him for his white-chocolatemacadamia-nut brownies,” Tate accused. “I’m the sweet one.”
“No, you’re the orderly one,” Shea corrected. “The detail-obsessed slave driver who never gives any of us a moment’s peace.”
Tate opened his mouth to dispute the point.
“Save it,” Mike advised before Tate could speak. “That was more on target than a smart bomb.”
“I think Mike’s the sweet one.” Rachel, seated between Mike and Shea, patted Mike’s arm. “He takes me shopping once week, and he even had a step installed on the Blazer to make it easier for me to get in.”
Mike spread his hands wide—the seated equivalent of taking a bow.
Then Rachel added with a taunting grin, “You just don’t think of him as sweet because he always looks as though he’s going to arrest you.” She elbowed him affectionately. “You do have to lighten up, dear.”
Veronica watched Mike take the resultant laughter and ribbing with good-natured aplomb. This man was not at all what she expected.
