Abigail Always

by Linda Poitevin

  “Yeah. I figured as much.” His mouth drew tight.

  “What will you do?”

  “No idea. We had an offer on the company last year that we turned down. Derek says they're still interested in buying out his share, but if we're in the condition you say, they're not going to want to pay him the original amount. That kills me,” Mitch said, “because the company was Derek's retirement plan, and I was the one who talked him out of selling. I don't know what he and Paul will do, especially now that Paul is sick. Freaking hell.”

  “It's not your fault. Things—”

  “Things happen. I know. But sometimes we make them happen, too, and that's what this is, Abby. This was me ignoring Derek's concerns.” Mitch swiveled on his heel, hands raking over his short-cropped hair. His mouth took on a bitter twist. “Turns out that's a bit of a pattern for me, don't you think?”

  “I think you're upset,” she replied equably, “and not thinking clearly.”

  Anger flashed in the pale green depths of his eyes, reminding her that—despite their new closeness over the last few days—she was still technically his employee. She hesitated for a second, then shrugged off the misgivings and continued, “I also think you shouldn't jump into any decisions just yet. Get the taxes done—I can have the books ready for the accountant by Friday—and then figure out where to go from there. Derek gave you a month, remember?”

  “Filing the taxes won't change anything. I still won't have the funds to buy him out.”

  “No, but your taxes will be paid, and you'll have three more weeks to explore options.”

  “Are you always such an optimist?”

  “Are you always such a pessimist?” she countered.

  Mitch scowled. Then a corner of his mouth twitched. Then he shook his head. “Fine,” he said. “No hasty decisions. Happy?”

  “Yes.” Abby nudged his mug across the island counter. “Your tea's going cold.”

  He strolled back to join her, settling onto one of the stools. “Speaking of decisions and changing the subject, what about you? Have you given any thought to the university idea?”

  “A little.”

  “But?”

  “But...” Abby hesitated. An idea had been in the back of her mind for the last few days, but she hadn't stopped to examine it, and she wasn't sure she was ready to share it. On the other hand, there was no real reason not to, because it might give Mitch the breathing space he needed for the decisions he needed to make. Across the island, Mitch frowned.

  “But...?” he prompted again.

  She took a deep breath. “I've been thinking of extending our agreement for a few months. You have a lot on your plate right now, and you're going to have no choice but to focus on the business until you get it sorted out. Plus, if the pediatrician refers Kia for occupational therapy the way we expect, there will be extra work there, too. Appointments, practice. No matter how organized I get you here, Mitch, there just aren't going to be enough hours in a week for you to do it all. Not while you're running the business singlehandedly.”

  For a long moment, Mitch stared down at his tea—surely it had to be stone cold by now—and said nothing. Then he looked up to meet her gaze, but not with the enthusiasm Abby had expected. “And what about your life?” he asked. “What about whatever it was you planned to do when you left here?”

  She gave a short laugh. “I have no plans for when I leave because I have no clue what to do with my life. The three-month idea came out of sheer panic, when I didn't think I could survive caring for your children while never seeing Olivia again.” Sympathy flashed across Mitch's face, and Abby waved a hand at it. “But I was wrong. Being here has been good for me. The girls have been good for me. And I really would like to help all of you get back on your feet. I just don't think it's possible in our original timeframe.”

  “It's a generous offer,” he said. “Are you're sure it's what you want to do?”

  She didn't mean to hesitate, but somehow a silence wedged itself between her and an answer. Between her and Mitch. Because there was so much more than just three children and the running of a household between them now. There were moments and touches that Abby didn't know how to interpret, and somehow an offer to stay had become entangled with all of that and more, and dear Lord, she'd kissed the man, and—

  Mitch stood and carried his mug to the sink, dumping its contents there and then putting it into the dishwasher. After crossing the room again, he paused beside her, so close that his heat reached out to prickle along her bare forearms. So close that she had to tip her head back to meet the gaze that reflected back her own uncertainties.

  “I'll give it some thought,” he said. “And you should, too.”

  Chapter 41

  Mitch didn't have the heart to face the office after Abby's revelations about the company finances—nor did he have the brainpower after whatever the hell that had been in the kitchen—so he climbed the stairs to the second floor. He stopped at the top, hand resting on the railing, staring at the wall opposite and pondering her offer.

  No. Not the offer so much as what had followed it.

  Because that—whatever it had been—had given him pause.

  His initial reaction had been one of overwhelming relief and gratitude, but vague reservations had almost immediately tempered it. He remembered all the times he'd noticed things about her he shouldn't have: her laugh, the crinkle of her eyes when she smiled, the way her hair cascaded around her shoulders, the curve of her hip, the soft translucence of her skin. Her unexpected, fleeting kiss. The way she fit against him when he’d held her.

  Damn, how he wanted to hold her again.

  Mitch exhaled a ragged breath. And therein lay his reservations, he realized.

  Abby had made it clear that she regretted the kiss and that she wanted it to go no further. As much as Mitch wanted to convince her otherwise, they both had too much at stake to treat this with anything but the utmost seriousness. Mitch had three daughters to think of, and Abby had her own life to consider... for the first time in her life. And Mitch was all too aware that his continued reliance on Abby put her right back where she'd been when she was married to William.

  Not something he wanted to do.

  Even if she'd offered.

  And God knew he could use the help.

  And—

  He sighed.

  And standing at the top of the stairs arguing with himself was getting him nowhere. He needed to get some sleep and do what he'd told Abby he would: give her idea some thought. A lot of thought. He also needed to consider what the hell he was going to do about the company, and Derek, and Kiana, and all the rest of the tangled mess his life had become.

  And freaking hell, now he was thinking of his youngest as part of the “mess”? He couldn't even begin to count the shades of wrong in that.

  Wearily, he dropped his hand from the railing and turned left, toward his daughters' rooms and his final check on them for the night.

  ***

  In the kitchen, Abby listened to the creak of the floor above her as Mitch traveled from room to room on his nightly rounds. She still stood at the island, but only because she gripped the countertop so hard that her hands ached. It was the only way to stop herself from running after Mitch to apologize for her hesitation and to explain... what? That she wanted to stay but it was complicated? Her insides writhed at the thought. She couldn't say for certain where Mitch's thoughts had gone when she hadn't answered him, but she suspected they had followed her own. Were things as complicated for him as they were for her? The idea made her writhing insides turn molten, and she groaned into the kitchen's silence.

  None of this was supposed to happen. She'd come here because she needed a job, not a man—and certainly not a man with three children and as much baggage as she carried herself. They were both still grieving, for heaven's sake. They were all still grieving. That was no foundation for—for whatever this was they were doing.

  No, she'd been right to hesitate, and Mitch had b
een right to walk away. Staying wasn't the answer—not when it evoked this kind of panic in both of them. But she still wanted to help, and—

  Abby caught her breath as a new idea sidled into her mind. It settled there, and she watched it unfold. She blinked at its simplicity, its absolute perfection—except for two small details. First, Mitch would never accept it, so he could never know; and second, if it was going to work at all, she would have to move fast.

  She pressed her lips together and straightened her shoulders, then reached for the cell phone charging on the counter by the fridge and called her brother-in-law.

  Chapter 42

  Abby spent the next morning obsessively checking her cell phone for missed calls and messages. By 11:30, she was scowling at its lack of alerts. Had she not been clear enough in the voicemail she'd left for Gareth? What part of important had he not understood? Should she call again? Call Gwyn instead? Dear Lord, how hard could it be to pick up her message and call her ba—

  The cell in her hand trilled, startling her into dropping it onto Mitch's desk, where she'd been pretending to work. She scrabbled to retrieve it, glanced at the display, and answered with a breathless, “Gareth—finally!”

  “Is everything okay?” her brother-in-law asked. “Your message said important but not urgent, or I would have called sooner.”

  “No—no, everything is fine. I was just being impatient.” Abby reined herself in and took a deep breath. She stood up from the desk and began pacing the room. “I've been thinking about our conversation. Does your offer still stand? Because I think I want to hire that L.A. law firm after all.” Silence met her words, and she swallowed. “You changed your mind.”

  “I haven't changed my mind at all. In fact...” Gareth cleared his throat at the other end of the line. “I—ah—kind of took it upon myself to get things started for you after we talked that day. I was afraid if you waited any longer, you'd be too late, and I was right. A decision was rendered on Monday.”

  The world rushed away in a haze of disappointment. “I missed it?” she whispered. “The money is... gone?”

  “God, no. That's not what I meant at all,” Gareth said cheerfully. “The estate goes to you.”

  She reeled under this news, too. “What, just like that? Without any kind of fight?”

  “As the surviving spouse, that's the law.”

  “But what about William's sister? Her lawyer said—”

  “Her lawyer said what lawyers are paid to say—a lot of nonsense. The court struck down her claim and signed off on probate on Monday. The law firm couriered the papers here because I didn’t know if you’d told Gwyn about the estate, and I didn’t want to ask her for your address and stir up more trouble between you two. As soon as they arrive, you’ll need to see a lawyer here to prove your identity and have everything notarized. Then the California firm will transfer the funds to the Ottawa firm, and they’ll issue you a check. Altogether, it should only take about three to five business days. If you want a good financial planner, I can give you the name of ours, by the way.”

  “I suppose that might be a good idea,” she mumbled, still processing the all part of the conversation—and the part where, if Gareth hadn't gone ahead on her behalf, she would have been too late to claim anything because she’d been too blinded by grief and guilt to care.

  She would have been too late to help Mitch and the girls—assuming there was even enough in the estate to do so.

  Gareth snorted. “For that amount? I would think so.”

  Assuming there was enough to help th—

  Abby's thoughts ground to a halt as Gareth's words registered. Hope had padded over to nudge a wet black nose into her hand, and absently, she patted the broad head. “What do you mean, that amount? What amount?”

  “Oh, that's right—you thought most of the money was his family's.”

  “It wasn't?”

  “Not by a long shot, Abby. William supported his family, not the other way around. You have a check coming for eleven million dollars. And those are U.S. dollars.”

  Gareth continued talking, but Abby heard nothing more than a few words amid a lot of noise.

  “... multi-million-dollar corporation...”

  The sound of her own heartbeat thundered in her ears.

  “... offshore assets...”

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “... debts paid off...”

  She wanted to swallow—needed to swallow—but couldn't.

  “... could be years...”

  “Stop,” she grated. She fumbled for the chair behind Mitch's desk and dropped into it. “Just... let me catch my breath. Please.”

  “Of course.” Warm sympathy underlined Gareth's voice. “This must be quite a shock.”

  “You have no idea.” Abby held her free hand in front of her and stared at its tremble, then curled it into a fist and let it drop to her lap. “I had no idea. William never said—he told me—I don't understand why.”

  “I have a theory, but it's not a nice one.”

  How bad could it be? “I'm listening.”

  “I think it was another way of controlling you. If you didn't think he had any money of his own, you wouldn't try to divorce him.”

  Abby considered the idea, wondering how numb she had to be that it didn't even surprise her. Hope nudged under her hand again, and she stroked the silky ears. “I think you're right,” she said quietly, thinking back to how secretive William had been about money over their years together. And how angry. Had he really been so afraid of her leaving that he had pushed her away with his behavior? “How sad,” she murmured.

  “That's one word for it,” Gareth's said, his tone hard. “I can think of others. But I don't suppose there's any point now.”

  “No.” She leaned her head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling. “No, I don't suppose there is. So, slowly this time, tell me the details again.”

  Patiently, Gareth explained California’s inheritance laws. He listed her late husband's assets and liabilities, naming sums that made Abby's mind boggle and her chest go tight. Then he told her that the L.A. lawyers were forwarding a complete list along with the other papers, and finally, he summed it all up.

  “So, eleven million U.S. after the attorneys' fees are paid, plus the proceeds from the house in L.A., once the sister pays you for William's share. And a rather enormous weight off your shoulders when it comes to finances, I suspect.”

  “Rather.”

  “Do you want the name of the financial planner now, or would you like some time to absorb everything? I imagine it's a lot to take in.”

  “It is a lot,” Abby agreed. Then she sat up straight in the chair, remembering her reason for calling Gareth in the first place last night—and for waiting so impatiently for his return call. Because while her own life-planning could wait, that of Mitch and his daughters could not. “But I need the name of a good lawyer here in town, first,” she told her brother-in-law. “I want to make a business investment.”

  ***

  “You should have told me about the finances.” Mitch tried to keep the accusation from his voice, but the silence on the other end of the call told him he might not have succeeded. He pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and fingers of his free hand and closed his eyes, slumping against the door of his pickup. Outside, the snow fell thick and fast. At this rate, they'd break their winter average before Christmas. Right about the time he had to pull the plug on the company. He made a concerted effort to unlock his jaw.

  He'd pulled off the highway and into a parking lot to take Derek's call, and he'd promised himself he'd ask about Paul before he launched into Abby's findings. He tried again.

  “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind right now. How's Paul doing?”

  “Resting. He has pneumonia, so they've delayed his first treatment until the new year. And I'm sorry about the books, Mitch. I know I should have said something, but you were already dealing with so much, and I fell behind, and...” Derek t
railed off, sounding old and tired, and Mitch's gut twisted. The older man had been nothing but good to him throughout Eve's illness, taking on far more than he'd signed on for with their partnership, despite his own declining health. He deserved the same consideration from Mitch, now that the tables were turned.

  Mitch tipped his head from side to side, trying to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. It didn't work. He sighed. “It's all good,” he said. “Abby's working through the books this week, and I'm turning them over to the accountant on Friday for the taxes. I'll figure things out.”

  “Taxes...” Derek mumbled. “Hell. I forgot about those.”

  Mitch winced at the admission and set his jaw again to keep the words locked in.

  “I think I forgot to make the payment on the line of credit this month, too,” Derek continued. “You might want to have her check that.”

  Mitch breathed in deeply through his nose. “Yeah. She mentioned it.”

  “How bad?” Derek asked heavily. “Be honest.”

  If Mitch could have found a way to lie, or seen a point in doing so, he might have tried. But Derek's hiding things from him was what had gotten them into this mess, at least partly, and Mitch would be doing neither of them any favors by perpetuating the habit.

  “It's bad,” he said. “We're behind on payments and taxes, and we're maxed out the line of credit. Abby says that at this rate, I've got another four to six months left before I have to shut down completely.”

  “God, Mitch. That bad?”

  “Yep.”

  “There's no way you can buy me out.”

  “Nope.”

  “I'm so sorry.”

  “I know.” And he did know. Deep, deep, deep down. He just had one or two things of his own to worry about at the moment, such as keeping a roof over his kids' heads and continuing to feed them. “I know,” he said again. “And I meant what I said. I'll figure it out. But you need to worry about you and Paul, my friend, so I want you to call Alex Peterson and offer him your share of the company. Things may be a bit rocky right now, but the Abrams Construction name is still worth a lot in this town, so don't let him talk you down from last year's offer. Promise me.”