Читать книгу The Man She Married - Muriel Jensen - Страница 8

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I named you Prudence,” Camille O’Hara said.

Prue stared at her mother, a woman in her late forties who was a model and an actress. She’d had her two daughters very young and was still gorgeous. She wore her expertly colored platinum hair in trendy spikes and had an artistic flair for line and color in her clothes. The fact that she was small and slender contributed to her youthful appearance. Prue knew that she got her creative talent from her.

Unfortunately, she’d inherited other things as well. Camille was charming and vivacious with a tendency toward theatrics—a quality probably well suited to her career. But those same qualities made Prue seem like the princess Gideon had often called her.

“Camille, don’t be so hard on her.” Jeffrey St. John, an actor, musician and old friend of her mother’s who was recently rediscovered, had been visiting for a week and showed no signs of going home to Florida. He’d been a calming influence in the household. “She’s had a shock, and strong feelings are involved. What would be right for you isn’t necessarily right for her.”

“How can a strong, dynamic man who loves her not be right for her?” Camille demanded.

“He said he didn’t want me back,” Prue reminded her. Now that the initial shock of seeing Gideon in Maple Hill had passed, Prue was dealing with a sort of posttraumatic depression. The need to be cool and disdainful in the face of his pathetic explanation had disintegrated and now all she felt was loss for the magic they’d known. “Neither one of us wants to be married again. And that ridiculous explanation of what happened was enough to make the most trusting woman laugh.”

“Sometimes,” her mother suggested more quietly after Jeffrey’s reprimand, “truth is stranger than fiction. Remember when you and Paris were little and the dog stole the cookie dough and I thought you’d done it?”

It was a terrible time to confess to a twenty-year-old crime, but it did make Prue’s point. “We did do it, Mom. That’s what I mean. If you lie well enough, you can get away with murder—or infidelity.”

“You did eat the cookie dough?” Camille asked in genuine surprise. She seemed to have missed the point.

“My point, Mom,” Prue said patiently, “is that I once loved him very much. He cheated on me while I spent night after lonely night alone believing he was working, giving up my life so he could fulfill his noble calling. Now I don’t give a rip about him. He’s moving to Alaska to be a partner in a fishing lodge, and I’m going to see a lawyer and file for divorce so I can look for a new partnership. Someday. Right now I have too much to do.”

“Okay,” Camille said. Prue was prepared for more argument. Her mother never gave up on anything. “But I think you’re making a big mistake. It isn’t easy for women like us to find the right man. They feel overwhelmed by us, even intimidated. We attract them all right, but holding them is harder because sometimes…we’re just too much.”

“The right kind of man,” Prue repeated her words with a roll of her eyes, “wouldn’t be found in a compromising position with a stripper.”

“I understand he had his clothes on,” Jeffrey said.

Both women turned to him in surprise.

“Well, Paris and Randy sat with us this morning while the two of you were in the cab, and she and your mother talked about it.” He shrugged. “I just think if a man’s as eager as all that to make love to a woman, he’s going to get naked, too.”

Feeling besieged, Prue needed to get away. She snatched her jacket and purse off the arm of the sofa and drew a steadying breath. “I’m going to the studio,” she said politely, though her emotions were hot and turbulent. Anger and pain and bitter disappointment gave her a heartburn that had nothing to do with digestion. “I have a lot of orders to fill and I have to make a plan, try to hire some help.”

Jeffrey stood. “Prue, I’m sorry if I…”

She came back to give him a quick hug. “You didn’t do anything, Jeffrey. I just need to get to work and think about other things.” She went to her mother, who sat curled up in an overstuffed chair, and hugged her, too. “I know you have my best interests at heart, Mom. Don’t worry if I’m late. I have a lot to do.”

Camille patted her cheek. “I’m so happy for you that the fashion show went well. Soon the whole world’s going to know you’re a brilliant designer.”

That was a nice thought.

Jeffrey tossed her his car keys. She tossed them back. “Thanks, but it’s a beautiful day and I’m going to walk.” She’d sold her Porsche when she’d moved back home to help contribute to the household. The fact that her sister owned a cab company had helped her get around, but after Paris and Randy were reconciled this morning, she imagined Paris would have better things to do than drive her to her studio.

She blew a kiss into the room and walked out the door, breathing in the sharp, clear air. She set a steady pace and headed off toward town, thinking that the two-mile jaunt would probably take her half an hour or better.

It was just after noon when she reached town. Colonial homes and small businesses stood in the sun-dappled early afternoon, Halloween decorations on the windows, a black cat–shaped windsock puffed out in front of the hardware store.

Traffic picked up as she reached the square, groups of women and men from City Hall or businesses downtown hurrying to lunch appointments. The trees on the common caught the sunlight that also glossed the curved lines on the statue of Caleb and Elizabeth Drake, a couple who’d fought off redcoats. Prettily painted two-hundred-year-old buildings framed the square.

She tried hard to concentrate on her surroundings rather than think about Gideon and his sudden appearance this morning. Though everyone else seemed to think his visit was noble to try to clarify what had happened and an indicator that he still cared, she thought of it as just another attempt to convince her of a fiction she just couldn’t swallow.

She didn’t think she was being difficult. She simply needed to hold on to her self-respect. What woman in her right mind would have believed him?

She’d just reached the far side of the square, when a horn honked behind her. She turned to see Paris’s cab pull up to the curb. The station wagon had magnetic signs on the front doors that read Berkshire Cab in tall yellow letters. Her sister reached across the front seat to open the passenger door.

“Where you going?” she asked.

“To the studio.” Prue ducked down to reply. “Why aren’t you and Randy making out somewhere? What’s wrong with you?”

“One of the other EMTs’ mother died and Randy was called in to cover for him.” Paris shrugged. “So, I thought I may as well drive. Get in.” She pulled a bottle of 7-Up and a package of saltines off the passenger seat.

Prue complied, fastened her seat belt, then took the bottle and crackers from her. “How’s the nausea?”

“Comes and goes,” Paris replied, watching her rearview mirror as she pulled out again. Taking her place in the busy traffic, she grinned at the windshield. “I’m feeling too obnoxiously happy to notice, really. Can you believe it? I’m in love! And I’m going to be a mother.”

Prue patted her sister’s arm, sincerely pleased for her, while her own heart reacted with a silent whimper. “A lot’s changed since you woke up at five this morning, sick as a dog and determined to leave Maple Hill and Randy to go back to law school.”

Paris nodded, still smiling. “I know. I can’t believe that only hours ago I was so sure that all the wonderful aspects of my life were over, except for the baby. And here I am.”

“Obnoxiously happy.”

“Yes. And you know why?”

“Why?”

They’d passed downtown now and the Breakfast Barn sign was visible in the distance on the left side of the highway.

“Because I was forced to listen to reason. Randy came after me and made me listen to him.” She spoke amiably, then added with pointed emphasis, “Just like Gideon tried to do with you this morning.”

If Prue wasn’t wearing her favorite red wool jacket, she’d have leaped from the moving car and taken her chances. But this fabric had been the devil to work on and she wasn’t going to endanger it to escape her sister’s advice.

“Do you want to hear what he told me this morning?” she asked Paris.

Paris sent her a quick and frankly interested glance. “Do you want to tell me?”

Prue recounted Gideon’s story complete with the members of the ethics committee hitting a moose and the stripper harboring a lifelong desire for higher education.

Paris considered a moment, waving at the driver of a police car that drove past. “I don’t think that’s so unbelievable. Parts of the story are a little outrageous, but then Mom always says that truth is—”

“Stranger than fiction,” Prue finished for her. “I know. Well, I don’t believe it. There’s been nothing about the incident in the paper.”

“He said it was an ongoing investigation.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Prudie…” Paris gasped, obviously frustrated with her. That came as no surprise. They’d learned to deal with each other since they’d each returned home a year ago, but they would always be two very different women.

Paris was levelheaded and practical, and if it hadn’t been for a shocking discovery about their mother’s history that redirected her entire life, Paris would probably be about to take the bar exam right now. Prue had always thought Paris took after Jasper O’Hara, their father, who’d been an accountant and the voice of reason in their lively family. But it turned out that Paris was the result of a traumatic event in her mother’s life, and whatever she’d inherited from Jasper had been by osmosis rather than genetics.

Prue, on the other hand, was artistic and mercurial like their mother, and tended to operate on emotion rather than reason, which oddly seemed more reliable to her. Reason was so black and white and allowed little scope for creativity. Emotion, however, could take one in a million different directions and always seemed to open doors rather than close one in.

“You know,” Paris started again. “You’re so creative about everything until it comes to love. It doesn’t exist just to serve you, you know. Gideon’s whole purpose in life wasn’t to see that you were adored and that nothing in your life went wrong. It’s entirely possible that things happened just the way he said they did, but you won’t trust him because you’d have to open up your concept of what love is. Maybe he needed you at the same time you were so desperate for reassurance.”

Prue tried to understand that and couldn’t.

“What are you talking about?” she asked crossly. “Love is about supporting and respecting one another. You might remember that I’ve been doing this longer than you have. I did it for four years while he claimed to be working too hard to do it for me, only to find out that he was fooling around.”

“He said he wasn’t.”

“I saw him!”

“You saw him fully dressed with a nearly naked woman in his lap. I think it’s entirely possible his explanation could be true.”

“Yeah, well, your future doesn’t hinge on the possibility that it could also be a lie.”

“Okay,” Paris sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you, especially now that I’m carrying a baby and you’re about to become the next Donna Karan.”

Prue drew a calming breath. They’d have never agreed to disagree in the old days; they’d have fought an issue until they weren’t speaking. Both of them had learned a lot and gained some maturity over the past year.

“Okay,” Prue said. “And I appreciate all you did to make the fashion show a success. The library made a lot of money, and so did I.”

Paris grinned wryly. “I think my fainting on the runway earned you some pity business, but we can’t take issue with that. So, how are you going to fill all those orders?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. Now that I have a little cash to play with, I’m going to hire help. And Rosie DeMarco from Happily Ever After might be willing to help me if her sister’s around to watch the shop.”

“Sounds like you have it all worked out.”

“Planned out, anyway. Whether everything goes according to plan is another matter.”

They’d reached the old Chandler Mill Building on the river where Prue had her studio in an upstairs space. Paris pulled into the parking lot. “Call me when you’re done for the day,” she said, “and we’ll go for Chinese. Randy’ll be at the fire station tonight and I can visit but I can’t hang around too long.”

Prue nodded. “That’ll be fun. When you’re not home, I feel like a fifth wheel with Jeffrey at Mom’s. I mean, I love him dearly and I think it’d be wonderful if he and Mom got together, I just don’t want to be in their way.”

“I’m sure you’re not. You know Mom. She’d tell you if you were. She’d put it charmingly, but she’d tell you.”

They laughed together, not at their mother, but at their shared knowledge of her passive-aggressive honesty.

Paris gave her a quick hug as she reached for the car door. “I’ll butt out of your business, I promise. I just want you to be happy.”

Prue hugged her back. “Prudent Designs makes me very happy,” she assured her. “And usually, having you for a sister does, too. Unless you try to convince me that candy is poison like you did when we were children, or…”

“You know, the Heart and Health Association proved me right on that one.”

“Or—” Prue talked over her “—you interfere in my love life.”

Paris gave her a look. “Do you even have a love life?”

Prue angled her chin. “I might someday, and I wouldn’t want you to interfere.”

“I understand,” Paris said gravely.

“Incidentally…” Prue couldn’t help the wide smile. “Remember when I was five and you were seven and we stole the chocolate-chip cookie dough while Mom was talking to Dad on the phone?”

Paris nodded. “We told her Mopsy got it. We were so bad at fibbing. Your creative nature apparently didn’t kick in until later.”

“She believed us,” Prue told her. “I just found out this morning. When I told her we lied, she was shocked.”

Paris grinned with the old mischief of their childhood. “You’re kidding! That story was so transparent!”

Prue made a face. “Now I feel guilty. I suppose she loved us, so she trusted us.”

Prue thanked Paris for the ride and promised to call her when she was finished for the day. Then she got out of the car and let herself into the building as Paris drove away.

Trust. There was that word Prue didn’t want to hear again. At least not today, because it brought to mind the image of Gideon’s face telling her he didn’t want her back because he couldn’t live with anyone who didn’t trust him.

Well, she was embarking on her own future, and she didn’t want to have to trust anyone but herself.

GIDEON SAT on an antique settee in front of the fire in the parlor of the Yankee Inn. He’d had a long telephone conversation with Dean, who told him there was little point in his coming to Kenton Cove until the lodge was rebuilt and, now that cold weather was setting in there, work wouldn’t start until spring.

Disappointed but trying to put a positive face on the situation, Gideon had canceled his flights and was perusing the Maple Hill Mirror, trying to decide what to do with himself for the next seven or eight months.

The inn’s door burst open suddenly and he found himself surrounded by a group of wet-haired children smelling of chlorine and carrying damp towels. There were three girls and a boy, and not an adult in sight. Jackie had disappeared into an office at the back and hadn’t returned.

“Hi.” A pretty little blond girl about ten or eleven sat beside him. “You’re the senator, aren’t you?”

Gideon smiled politely, wondering where she’d gotten that information. “Well, I was. I’m not a senator anymore,” he said, folding down a corner of the paper. “You’re that kid that’s been to the swimming pool.”

She giggled. “How’d you know that?” Then remembering her wet hair and her obvious towel, she giggled again. “Oh, yeah. We have swimming lessons after school.”

Another little blonde, several years younger than the one next to him, stood with a scolding expression. “You’re not supposed to get naked with somebody unless you’re married to them.”

“Rachel!” A dark-haired child with large brown eyes whose age appeared to be somewhere between the other two came to sit on his other side. She looked mortified. “I’m sorry,” she said to Gideon. “My sister’s too little to understand about gossip and how you’re not supposed to believe it or pass it on.”

Oh, good. Even children knew he was the object of gossip and what it was all about. He folded the paper and put it on the low table in front of him.

“I’m not too little!” Rachel denied. “Mom said that Grandma said—”

“Grandma gossips!” the older sister interrupted her. “And Mom doesn’t want us to do that.” She turned to Gideon. “Our mom owns the inn.”

“Ah. You’re Mrs. Whitcomb’s children.”

“Her name’s Jackie,” Rachel informed him. “Our dad’s Hank. He’s our second one. The first one died.” She pointed her wet towel at the brunette. “That’s Erica, and that’s Ashley. She’s our friend.” She pointed to the young boy beside her. “This is Brian.”

“He’s my brother,” Ashley said.

“Only, he’s not really.” Rachel seemed to have a compulsion for detail. “His mom’s in jail, so Mariah and Cam adopted him. Everybody died in Ashley’s family.”

Erica rolled her eyes and groaned in dismay. “That’s private stuff!” she said to Rachel. “You don’t just blab it to everybody!”

Rachel frowned in hurt surprise. “We know him.” She pointed to Gideon. “Well, we know about him. He’s Prue’s husband, and Prue’s friends with Ashley’s mom and dad. And Dad said he liked him.”

Gideon met Brian’s eyes, wondering how he was taking the girls’ candor. He was pleased to see that it didn’t seem to be bothering him. Brian was obviously well adjusted to his new situation. Gideon had met Cam that morning over the eventful breakfast at the Barn. He’d seemed like a good guy. They all had.

He held his hand out to the boy. “Hi, Brian. I’m Gideon.”

Brian shook his hand and smiled. “You know judo,” he announced with enthusiasm. “Uncle Hank said! Can you throw me?”

“Sure.” Gideon stood, and without giving the boy a moment, he tossed him spectacularly over his right hip, protecting the boy’s landing with a firm grip on him. Then he pulled him up.

“Wow!” Brian was flushed with excitement.

The girls were all on their feet. “Do me!” Rachel demanded. Gideon complied. Squeals of hilarity reigned as he swung the other two girls to the floor.

Hank pushed his way into the lobby just in time to catch Brian pleading to be thrown a second time.

“Daddy!” Rachel ran to him, caught his hand and pulled him toward the laughing group of children, talking all the time. “He can do judo!” she exclaimed. “And he made Brian fly through the air, then he did it to me, then he did everybody!”

“And he’s gonna do me again!” Brian shouted. “Go ahead, Gideon.”

Gideon looked at Hank in question. He nodded his approval. Brian went over with a giggling cry.

“Whoa.” Hank came closer, smiling. “You’re going to have to teach me to do that.” He frowned teasingly at the kids. “And when I take the trouble to pick you up, it would be nice if you didn’t race off and leave me behind the minute the car stops.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Erica said, then without drawing a breath asked Gideon, “Can you throw Daddy?”

Gideon shook his head. “Space is too small. And I’m sure your dad’s had a busy day and the last thing he wants to do right now is go flying through the air.”

Hank studied him with new interest. “Do you think you could?” he asked.

“Could what?” He couldn’t mean what Gideon thought he was asking. “Take you down?”

“Yeah. If you had the room.”

“Sure.”

Hank raised an eyebrow in challenge. “We’re about the same size.”

Gideon nodded. “It’s not about size.”

“Okay. Follow me.”

The children jumped along beside them like little pistons, squealing as Hank led the way to a big empty room in the back.

“Jackie uses this room for banquets,” he explained, “but it’s empty at the moment because housekeeping just shampooed the carpet. This do?”

“Very well.” Gideon pulled off his shoes and advised Hank to do the same. They pushed the eager children toward the wall.

“You stay back there,” Hank told them firmly. “You don’t want to get hit when Gideon comes flying at you.” He grinned at Gideon. The children cheered.

It took just a few seconds. Gideon grabbed Hank, and when Hank tipped his weight, thinking Gideon intended to push in that direction, Gideon reversed and dropped him by hooking his foot with his own.

Hank went down with a thud and a shout and lay there for a moment, the breath knocked out of him. Gideon offered him his hand.

Hank took it, surprise in his eyes. He grinned again and flexed his shoulders. “Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.”

Gideon brushed off the shoulder of Hank’s chambray shirt. “Assailants don’t usually count to three,” he said.

“True.” Hank conceded. “Okay, let’s go again.”

“Come on, Daddy!” Erica shouted.

Brian called, “Go, Gideon!”

Hank, busy assuming a prepared stance, stopped to frown with teasing ferocity at the boy. “Whose side are you on, Brian?”

Brian smiled winningly. “Well, Gideon doesn’t have anybody to cheer for him.”

That was certainly true on more than one level.

Prepared, Hank was a stronger opponent, but knowledge won out over strength. Gideon grabbed him and, using the man’s own strength, tossed him over his hip. Hank landed hard.

The children gasped.

Gideon would have worried about embarrassing Hank in front of the children if Hank had seemed worried about it, but he didn’t. Hank propped himself up on his elbows and asked, “Can you do two men at a time?”

Gideon nodded, then looked around. “But you’re the only man here. You’re seeing double. That’ll be gone in a minute.”

“Funny man.” Hank sat up. “Erica, can I have your cell phone?”

The girl dug in her backpack and handed it to him. He dialed. “Good,” he said after a moment. “You’re still there. Can you come down to the banquet room for a few minutes? Doesn’t matter what for, you’ll have a good time.”

He winked at the children, who laughed. He tossed the phone back at Erica and got to his feet, flexing his left arm and groaning.

“What’re you doing for dinner?” he asked. “Jackie told me your trip to Alaska fell through, at least for the moment, and you’ve booked an extra day.”

Gideon nodded. “I thought a drive through the Berkshires would be good for my disposition.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Hank said. “Jackie makes a mean enchilada casserole. Want to join us?”

Gideon was a little surprised by the offer. It wasn’t as though he knew him that well, and it was a curious suggestion in light of the fact that he’d just taken him down twice.

“Ah…that’d be nice,” he said. “Thank you.”

A man in paint-smeared coveralls walked into the room. Brian ran to him.

“Uncle Evan!” he said. “Gideon’s going to throw you around!”

Gideon remembered the man from the breakfast table at the Barn.

“Gideon, you remember Evan Braga? Evan, Gideon Hale.”

“Right.” Gideon shook hands and said with a note of apology, “I just want to make it clear up-front that this is Hank’s idea and not mine.”

Evan looked doubtful. “Okay.”

“He’s a martial arts expert,” Hank told Evan. “He’s going to throw us.”

“Throw us,” Evan repeated blankly.

“Yeah.”

“Is this in my job description?”

“No, but job description is what this is all about.”

“Ohhh,” Evan said as though that clarified things. Gideon was confused.

But not about what he knew. Hank and Evan backed away from him, each at an angle, then came toward him. Hank was easily dispensed with, but Evan had had some training. Gideon struggled with him for a moment, then finally overbalanced him, hooked his left leg and used the weight of his own body to drive Evan’s shoulders to the floor. Gideon leaped up again, ready for a counterattack.

Hank and Evan, both supine, looked at one another.

“What do you think?” Hank asked him.

Evan, breathless from their brief but fierce struggle, nodded. “Yes. But if you tell anybody he took both of us, I’ll hurt you!” He frowned at the children. “And that goes for you guys, too.”

The children giggled, obviously not taking him seriously.

Gideon offered his hand to Evan and hauled him to his feet. Then both reached for Hank.

“Am I still invited for dinner?” Gideon teased.

“Absolutely,” Hank replied. “I want to talk to you about a job.”