Strangers When We Meet Page 8

  The cups and saucers were flowered china, too, but the patterns were different, one pastel daises and ivy tendrils, the other a riot of pink roses and forget-me-nots. Emma watched as Maureen poured hot chocolate for both of them. She wasn’t hungry but took a slice of toast anyway, grateful to have something to think about other than her troubled relationship with Daryl. She took a bite and then another, hungrier than she’d thought. She’d eaten very little of her expensive dinner, she realized.

  When she finished her toast, Emma opened the album and glanced through the photos of a smiling, brown-haired woman and the tall, dark-haired man at her side. Emma recognized Bonnie at once, and was surprised to see her wearing a designer gown and three-inch spike heels. Whenever Emma had seen her in Cooper’s Corner, she had been wearing jeans and a tool belt.

  Maureen saw the look of surprise on her face and interpreted it correctly.

  “Bonnie cleans up well, doesn’t she,” she said with a smile. “The wedding was here in Cooper’s Corner. Very simple. Just as she wanted. But Jaron’s mother planned the reception in New York—or rather, his mother and Bonnie’s aunt did. It was very top drawer. Very posh. Clint had to wear a tux. He hasn’t had it out of the closet since we moved up here.”

  “He looks very good in it.” Emma tapped one of the photos showing Clint, smiling broadly, with his arms around both newlyweds. “I don’t see you in any of the pictures.”

  ’Oh, I was there. We all went up and back by bus.”

  “I hope they’ll be very happy.”

  “I hope so, too. They’re planning to split their time between New York and here. You’ll probably meet Jaron sometime soon.”

  Emma put the album on the table. She found she liked being able to put names to faces around town. She’d never lived in a small place like Cooper’s Corner, but she was beginning to think she could adjust to it very easily.

  She spied the legal pad Maureen had put down. It was filled with carelessly scrawled notes and what looked like a menu. “Perhaps I’ll get the opportunity to meet Jaron over the holidays. Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I imagine you’re booked solid for that weekend,” Emma said, taking her cue from the underscored heading at the top of the page.

  “We do have bookings.” Maureen’s smile was tired, but laced with satisfaction. “And our father will be here for a visit. It’s his first trip home in a year. He’s been teaching in France since our mother died.” The rhythms and cadences of her speech were pure New York. Emma had noticed her accent intensified when she relaxed and settled into a conversation, as she was doing now. She looked less edgy than she had the first time Emma had stayed at the inn. Once or twice Emma thought she’d seen a haunted look in Maureen’s eyes, an uneasiness that had little to do with the day-to-day problems of getting Twin Oaks up and running.

  Of course there had been that business of the guest who had disappeared from his room, but he’d later been found safe. And her grandmother had mentioned vague rumors of a private detective nosing around town, asking questions about Maureen and Clint that the locals considered none of his business. If Twin Oaks had been hers, Emma decided, she would also sit up each evening to make sure her guests were tucked in safe and sound and the house was secured, just as Maureen did.

  “We’re planning a big party. Turkey, chestnut stuffing, oyster stew, pumpkin pie. All the trimmings. We’re making a real celebration of it. We’ll ask Ed Taylor, the man who raises those marvelous free-range chickens. He hardly has any family left and he always looks as if he could use a good meal. Grace Penrose, too. You know her, I believe. She’ll be neck deep in planning for the Christmas Festival, so I thought it would be nice to save her the trouble of cooking a big meal. And Beth Young will be dropping by later, I hope, to play piano for those of us who simply cannot sit through another football game on TV. Will you be spending Thanksgiving with your grandparents?”

  “I hope to,” Emma said carefully.

  Maureen watched her closely for a moment over the rim of her cup. “We’d love to have you all join us here. I know how much of an effort cooking a big dinner would be for your grandmother. And—”

  “And you know I can’t boil water,” Emma said, laughing.

  Maureen opened her mouth as if to protest, then she laughed, too. “I was going to phrase it more delicately,” she admitted. “Please come—unless you’ve already made plans to join the Tubb family.”

  Emma took a deep breath and set her cup on the saucer with a click. She might as well get used to making this speech. “Daryl and I have hit a rough patch. I don’t know where we’ll be in our relationship by Thanksgiving.”

  “I see.” Maureen looked into her cup for a moment before returning her gaze to Emma’s face. “I couldn’t help but notice he’s...not around much. I won’t ask you any more questions, but if you do ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  “Thanks, Maureen. I’m having trouble explaining to myself what’s wrong. It’s damned near impossible to make sense of it to anyone else. Including Daryl. His mother is more than a little peeved at me for postponing our engagement announcement.”

  Maureen lifted a brow. “Ah, so there was going to be an announcement this week. Forgive me, but Lori Tubb has been dropping hints all over town.”

  Emma winced. “I was afraid of that.”

  “I know this one is so old it has a white beard longer than Rip Van Winkle’s, but better safe than sorry. Take it from a woman who knows, to her sorrow, what can happen when you leap headlong into love with the wrong man.”

  “The twins’ father?” Emma asked carefully.

  “Yes. But it’s long over and done with, and I won’t bore you with the sad details.” Maureen, too, set her cup on the saucer with a little more force than necessary. “You look tired. I’ll leave you to go to bed now. Pleasant dreams, Emma.”

  “Thank you. That would be a nice change of pace.” So there was an unhappy relationship in Maureen’s past, Emma thought. She hadn’t been certain if Maureen was widowed or divorced, or had ever been married at all. It wasn’t any of her business, but she did wonder what exactly had happened in her new friend’s past. Maureen’s voice and expression had hardened when she spoke of the twins’ father. There was sorrow in her eyes, and regret, deep and heartfelt. Emma remembered her grandmother’s words. Not a happy story.

  Maureen spoke with the sincerity of a woman who knew what she was talking about. Her words were a warning that Emma was more than a little inclined to heed. She didn’t want to end up with the wrong man, be it Daryl Tubb or anyone else.

  * * *

  SHE COULD SEE his silhouette outlined against the many-paned dormer window at the top of the stairs. He was sitting with one leg propped on the window seat, his hand resting on his knee. And he was watching her, as silent as the sleeping house.

  At the top of the steps, she hesitated, knowing she wouldn’t be able to move past him to her room, pretending they had nothing to say to each other beyond a polite good-night. She gave it a shot anyway, and got as far as putting the key in the lock.

  “Emma.” His voice was quiet, low-pitched and as arresting as a hand on her arm. Turning slowly, she faced him. “We need to talk.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  He straightened and patted the cushioned seat beside him. “Come, sit down. The view is spectacular.”

  She did as he asked, settling gingerly onto the window seat as far from him as she could manage. But the dormer was narrow, and his thigh was mere inches from hers, so close she could feel the heat of his body and sense the strength in the bone and muscle of his leg.

  The view was spectacular, so she concentrated on that and not on Blake’s nearness. The village was spread out below them, sleeping in the moonlight. Starlight flickered on the water of the creek as it wound its way through the meadow. The steeple of the church was touched with g
ilt, and the almost bare branches of the trees bowed and curtsied in the light wind.

  “There’s a weather change coming,” Emma said. “Tomorrow will be the last of the warm days, I believe.”

  He ignored her attempt to keep the conversation in shallow water. “The first thing I want to say is I’m sorry for what happened this afternoon.”

  “You didn’t have to wait up to tell me that,” she said.

  “Yes, I did. I’m not good at apologizing, but I’m getting better at it with you. It seems like just about every time we meet, I end up saying I’m sorry for one thing or another.” There was a trace of amusement in his deep voice. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

  Emma felt a flare of temper. “I think I had something to do with that kiss.” She was amazed at the note of challenge that had crept into her voice as if of its own accord. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness of their alcove, and she saw him open his mouth as if to deny her words, then shut it abruptly. “As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember asking you to kiss me. I’m the one who should apologize. I took advantage of your broken heart.”

  Blake made a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like someone choking back laughter. “My broken heart?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It was wrong of me. Just because I’ve got myself in a bind over a man doesn’t mean I should take advantage of the next one who comes along.”

  “And just because I’m mad as hell at one woman—not brokenhearted over her, mind you—doesn’t mean I should take advantage of the next woman who crosses my path.”

  He had leaned closer. Only a little, an inch or two, but it was too much for Emma. She’d been trying to forget that explosive kiss among the leaves for the last six hours. Now his nearness brought it back in vivid detail, and her insides tingled with longing and desire just as they had when it happened. Perhaps even more strongly than before. She panicked and started to rise. “Then no apologies are necessary from either of us. No harm done, right?” His hand closed over her wrist, and he tugged her gently down beside him again.

  “Emma, we have to talk. This isn’t just about Heather’s infidelity—”

  “Heather?”

  “Heather Markham. The woman I was living with.”

  Emma’s breath tightened in her chest. Heather. That Blake’s faithless lover had the same name as the woman Daryl had been with that night was only a coincidence, wasn’t it? Women with the name of Heather were thick as fallen leaves on the ground these days.

  She tried to relax. Another coincidence. That was all. But his mention of Daryl’s name coupled with his ex-lover’s had started a chain reaction in her mind.

  “There’s something between us, Emma. Something that doesn’t seem to want to go away.”

  Something like love at first sight?

  But that was what she’d experienced with Daryl, wasn’t it?

  She was so confused she couldn’t think straight. She felt as if she’d drunk an entire bottle of wine instead of a cup of hot chocolate. Being near Blake Weston addled her brain and inflamed her body.

  Her skin burned where he touched her. Her body vibrated to every sound he made. She wanted to throw herself against his chest, steady her ragged breathing with the strong, solid beat of his heart. She wanted to pour out her problems and, heaven help her, let him solve them for her. She wanted Daryl Tubb to drop off the face of the earth, never to darken her pathway again.

  “Emma,” he said, running his palm over her hair, cupping her cheek. She wanted to turn her face into his hand and snuggle close, like a kitten. “Admit it. There is something, isn’t there?”

  “Yes. But I don’t know what it is. And since I’m in the middle of one messed-up relationship, I sure as hell don’t want to start another one.”

  He didn’t pull back as she almost hoped he would. He was still close enough that if she lifted herself just a little, their lips would touch. And heaven and earth would trade places again, if only for a moment. “Fair enough. I’ll wait. I don’t have unanswered questions about what happened between me and Heather. It’s over. It had been over a long time before she walked naked into my living room to meet another man.”

  “I...I don’t know what I feel now.” She wasn’t ready to make the almost unbelievable connection between Heather and Daryl, to wonder at the amused Fate that had brought her and Blake to Twin Oaks the same week. She wasn’t ready to start tugging on all the ends of her unraveling relationship and follow the strings to their implausible, but seemingly more and more likely, end. Heather and Daryl. Daryl and Heather. The names repeated themselves over and over in her mind.

  “Go to bed, Emma,” Blake said quietly. “We can’t resolve anything tonight. And if I sit here watching you in the moonlight any longer, I’ll just end up adding more complications to the situation.”

  “Like kissing me again?” She was losing her sanity, saying those words aloud.

  Blake chuckled. “I thought you kissed me.”

  Her head was whirling, half with delight at the anticipation of feeling his lips on hers again, half with dread for the dark hours of the night when she was bound to wake up and start worrying all over again. It was so much easier to give advice on the radio. There she was in control. She could tell her callers what she thought was best for them and be fairly confident she was right.

  But this was different.

  This was her life, and damned if she knew what was right.

  He stood up, pulling her with him. There would be no kiss, she could tell, and bit back a sigh of mingled disappointment and relief. He wasn’t going to solve her dilemma for her. She was going to have to do that for herself. He turned the key she’d left in the old-fashioned lock and opened her door on silent hinges. He gave her a little push inside and closed the door.

  “Good night, Emma,” she heard him say, very softly, as he headed down the hall. “Tomorrow we’ll talk.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMMA WAS UP EARLY the next day, and like the coward she felt herself to be, sneaked out of the inn through a side door, ignored the beauty of the cool morning that was exactly suited to a brisk walk into town and drove her car straight to her grandparents’ house.

  Her grandmother was opening the garage door. She was dressed in wool slacks and the turquoise all-weather coat she’d worn to church the day before. “Want a ride?” Emma asked, rolling down the window.

  “You don’t even know where I’m going,” Martha responded with a smile.

  “I don’t care. I’ll drive you to the ends of the earth.” Away from the two men she was caught between.

  Martha put her hand over her heart and rolled her eyes. “What a dutiful granddaughter you are. I’m just going to the hairdresser and the market, so you’re off the hook. But you might ask if your grandfather wants a ride. He’s going out to make a few house calls this morning.”

  “I imagine the AMA frowns on retired doctors making house calls.”

  “He calls it visiting old friends, but he always takes his bag. I think he’s going to check on Ed Taylor and one or two others.” She waved her hand in the air. “I’ve forgotten who. Must be the beginning of Alzheimer’s.”

  “Or maybe you’re thinking of errands you’ve got to run two hours from now, and whether or not you should take the pork chops you’re planning to have for dinner out of the freezer before you leave, right?” Emma said, laughing.

  “That might be the case, too.”

  “How would you like a houseguest for the rest of the week? I promise to help with the dishes.” She wasn’t going to spend any more nights alone at the inn, no matter how much she liked the place or the people who owned it.

  Her grandmother refrained from any overt comment on her leaving Twin Oaks, although her smile was tinged with relief. “I have to admit I’ve missed you staying with us your last
few visits. So has your grandfather.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Your room is ready whenever you want to move in.” Martha’s eyes shone at the prospect of having Emma to herself for five whole days.

  “I have to tell Maureen I’m leaving. I’ll bring my things with me this evening. Is that okay?”

  “Wonderful.” Emma watched as her grandmother maneuvered the little import out of the garage and onto the street. She rolled down the window and called to Emma. “Will you join us for dinner? That is, if you don’t already have plans?”

  “I’m free as a bird today.”

  “We’ll eat at eight, then.”

  “It’s a date.” When her grandmother said they would eat at eight, dinner would be on the table at precisely that time. Martha and Felix were punctual to a fault. Emma pulled her car into the driveway and went into the house through the back door. Her grandfather was sitting at the table in the bay window that formed a small alcove at the far end of the kitchen. Her grandmother’s rock garden, all ready for winter’s long sleep, was framed by large trees and a view of the hills above town.

  “Morning, Granddad,” Emma said, giving him a kiss on top of the head. “Want some company on your rounds today?”

  “I don’t do rounds, but I am heading out to check on Ed Taylor and maybe have coffee at the diner with another couple of old geezers. Think you can handle that?”

  She slid onto the chair beside him and read the headlines in the paper over his shoulder. There was a school bond issue coming up for a vote in a few days, and pictures of the new rest rooms at the village park. The paper came out only once a week and had long ago given up reporting anything but births, deaths and school sports, along with town council news. “Yeah, I think I’m up to that. Need a lift?”

  “Nope. Going to ride my bike. Might be the last nice day we get. You can use your grandmother’s bike, if you want to tag along. She doesn’t get much use of it these days.”