On Mother's Day (Great Expectations #1)

by Andrea Edwards

  She was tired of feeling inadequate. She couldn’t hold on to Alex; she couldn’t keep Kate. She didn’t even come first with her cats. But she could try to kick the hell out of this kickball.

  When she got in position and looked up, her heart had misgivings. Sam’s team had moved Timmy in as pitcher. He grinned at her; his smug smile said he was certain of victory. Her “prowess” at kickball was well known. No one had ever wanted her on their team. Not now and not ever.

  As she stared at Timmy and his smug smile, Kate’s advice came back to her: Never, ever kick with your toe.

  Fiona took a deep breath and forced herself to stare at Timmy. With a wickedness added to his grin, he flung the ball toward her. Faster and faster and faster it seemed to come. But she could do it. Kate was a good athlete. Somewhere deep in Fiona’s bones, she had to have some athletic ability. All she had to do was call it front and center.

  The ball was there and Fiona drew her foot back, forced her toe to point down, and kicked.

  She connected with the ball, feeling the jarring all the way up to her hip. Then the ball was gone and she just stood and watched it soar into the air, flying over Timmy’s head, over Betsy’s head and into the outfield, where it bounced toward the fence.

  “Run!” someone screamed.

  “Run!”

  “Go, Aunt Fiona! Run!”

  “You hit a home run, Aunt Fiona. Run!”

  She hit a home run? Oh, my gosh. Suddenly Fiona was racing down the baselines. She was vaguely aware that Cassie was ahead of her, but all she could do was laugh. “I hit a home run!” she screamed to Betsy as she passed second. “I hit a home run.”

  “Faster, Aunt Fiona. Faster.”

  She sped past Bobby at third who patted her back in congratulations and then she was coming home.

  “Faster!” her team was screaming.

  “Slide!” Cassie yelled. “Slide!”

  How did you slide? Fiona thought briefly. No one had ever taught her that. No one had ever expected it of her. But she threw her feet out in front of her and slid across the mud and grass to touch home plate just an instant before the ball came in. They’d won the game on her home run! Fiona got to her feet, collapsing into Cassie’s arms.

  “We won!” the kids were shouting.

  “Way to go, Fi!” Cassie was hugging her hard. “I knew you could do it.”

  “’Bout time you figured out how to play,” Fiona’s sisterin-law Nancy teased.

  “Talk about letting me down,” Samantha grumped, but her eyes were laughing as she hugged Fiona in turn. “I was sure I could count on you to stay a klutz.”

  After more congratulations and good-natured grumping, the group began to move toward the house. Fiona was left with her sisters.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Cassie wanted to know.

  Fiona stared at her. “We won.”

  “Oh, that.” Sam shrugged it off. “It’s just a game. We’ll win next time.”

  “Then—” Her sisters were both grinning at her, but she just shook her head.

  “I’m as likely to find Prince Charming as I am to kick a home run,” Sam mimicked.

  “I’m as likely to see Alex once I leave here as I am to kick a home run,” Cassie said.

  “I’m as likely to find a good parking place as I am to kick a home run,” Sam finished.

  They both just stopped and stared at Fiona, their faces expectant, but of what she didn’t know. Their grins were definitely ones caused by little sisters seeing their big sister getting her due, though.

  “What?” she finally said.

  “Don’t you see?” Sam asked, her voice ripe with exasperation. “You were wrong! You thought you’d never kick a home run but you were wrong about that.”

  “So how much else have you been wrong about?” Cassie demanded.

  Fiona just looked from one to the other, a strange awareness growing in her. They were right. She had scored her home run. She had been wrong about that. Might she have been wrong about other things—like why Alex left?

  But why else would he have left? He’d gone home so soon after learning about Fogarty, it had to be related. Although she would have thought Mr. Honesty would have told her the truthShe stopped, feeling as if all the breath had been knocked out of her. Could that be it? Could he have left because he couldn’t tell her the truth?

  She shoved her hands into her pockets, and felt something in her right one. She pulled it out—it was a swan feather. The one she’d found on her birthday.

  Everything came back all of a sudden. That anger she’d felt years ago that had enabled her to break all sorts of rules and help rescue Juliet. That need she had to find a way for happiness to bloom. That certainty that love was more precious than anything else.

  Suddenly things looked possible. A slow anger started percolating in her. Alex had left because he couldn’t tell her about Fogarty. He’d tossed aside their love for that? Didn’t he realize how precious love was? That jerk. That fool. That man!

  Maybe it was time somebody had a talk with him. The courage of the rescue was with her once more, churning in her veins and making her heart brave.

  “I’m going to miss dinner,” Fiona announced.

  “You leaving the cake?” Cassie asked.

  Fiona rolled her eyes. Typical Cassie. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Cassie started back to the house, then turned. “Say hi to Alex for me.”

  Fiona pounded on Alex’s door again—harder this timethen peered in through his front window. There was no sound, no movement within. Damn. If that wasn’t her luck. She kicked at his aluminum storm door. The sound was loud and satisfying, but only momentarily so.

  She’d fumed the whole ride up, planning just how she was going to give him a piece of her mind. How could he just throw away her love? Did he really think she’d rather have a dead ancestor than a live lover? And now she had nothing.

  She didn’t even have the joy of yelling at Alex. Who knew where he was? He could be out of town on another job. He could have moved, for all she knew. She stomped up the steps to the sidewalk. It had started to rain—in bucketfuls, and her jacket wasn’t waterproof. What had she expected?

  “Hello?” a voice called down at her.

  Fiona turned and looked up, squinting into the rain to see an old man looking out an upstairs window. A little ray of hope crept into her heart. If this old man was anything like Mr. Kaminsky, he knew everything that went on in the building.

  “I’m looking for Alex Rhinehart,” she called up to him.

  “It’s Mother’s Day,” the old man said. “He’s a good son.”

  What did that mean? “Did he take his mother out to dinner?” she called out.

  “To Bowers,” the old man replied. “Very expensive. He’s a good boy to be so nice to his mother.”

  “Thanks,” she called up to the old man and hurried back to her car, splashing uncaringly through the puddles. She was drenched by the time she got in.

  So he hadn’t escaped her, after all. Just had chosen a different setting for their confrontation. It didn’t matter to her. She just was not going to let one extra minute go by without getting this settled.

  She wasn’t sure how she remembered the way to the restaurant, since she’d been pretty much in a coma that first night here, but she did. Maybe it was the spirits of the swans helping. The thought bolstered her and she parked in the first available place, not even bothering to look if it was a legal spot, then raced into the restaurant.

  “May I help you?” The tuxedoed maître d’ stood in her way, his eyes raking down her in disapproval.

  Fiona glared at him. She knew just what she looked likesoaked from being in the rain, grass stains down the leg of her jeans and mud all over her white shoes. And she knew they had dress standards here, but for once she didn’t care. The hell with their rules!

  “I need to see one of your patrons,” she said, her voice just as haughty as his. “Alex Rhinehart.”

&n
bsp; “I am sorry,” he said. His voice had turned to ice. “If you would care to wait outside, I will get him for you.”

  Wait outside—in the pouring rain where she’d eventually give up and go away? She didn’t think so. “Look, bud. This isn’t going to take long.”

  The “bud” caused his eyebrows to flicker, like a power surge had bypassed his circuit box. “I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”

  She felt a sudden surge herself—of strength, of determination, of conviction. She wasn’t some silly little woman to be brushed aside; she was a home-run kicker. She was a rescuer of swans. She was someone who could make the impossible happen. And if winning Alex back didn’t rank with the impossible, she didn’t know what did.

  “Look, it’s not like you don’t have water, mud and green stuff in your silly little pretend forest already,” she retorted. “I’m not going to contaminate anyone.”

  She had not helped matters. Obviously, she didn’t quite have this fighting business down pat.

  He seemed to grow to about ten feet tall. “If you are going to be difficult,” he said, “I shall have you removed.” He looked over her shoulder and flicked his finger at someone, calling for reinforcements, no doubt.

  But Fiona was not about to be thrown out. She’d come all this way to see Alex, and see him she would. Darting under the maître d’s arm, she fled into the dining room with its pretentious maze of trees and little arbors and babbling brook. Dirty as she was, she should blend in very well with the scenery and stay hidden for days. But then, hiding wasn’t the objective.

  “Alex?” she called out. “Alex Rhinehart!”

  The people nearest her looked startled, pulling back as if something unknown and dangerous had entered their midst. She grinned at them, and hurried farther into the room. From the commotion behind her, she knew the cavalry had arrived and she’d better be quick.

  “I know you’re in here, Alex,” she shouted. “You can’t hide from me.”

  “Fiona?”

  She spun and saw him standing by a table across the room, his confusion clear even at a distance. She was about to hurry down the aisle between the tables that would take her over to him when she saw a group of hefty-looking men bearing down on her. Damn.

  Turning the other way, Fiona squeezed between a grove of potted trees. The posse was getting close and she hurried—with apologies—past a group of strolling violinists who were watching with more amusement than horror. Then it was through the brook—whose water was incredibly cold—and through another grove of trees.

  “What the devil is going on?” Alex said. “Is something wrong? Is it Kate?” His eyes were a mixture of worry and annoyance. And just a flicker of pleasure at seeing her.

  “Hi to you, too,” she said.

  “Fiona, what is going on?” Alex asked.

  But Fiona just ignored him, and turned to the older woman seated at Alex’s table. “You must be Mrs. Rhinehart.” Fiona’s brain suddenly caught up with her mouth. “Oh, no, you’re not, are you? Well, .anyway, I’m really sorry to be interrupting your dinner.”

  “Fiona!”

  Alex’s mother slid out from her side of the booth, her gaze on something behind Fiona. “Nonsense. This looks to be quite entertaining. Much more so than my son’s dreary conversation.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  His mother was ignoring him as she gestured for Fiona to slide into the booth between her and Alex. “But perhaps you should join us.”

  With a glance over her shoulder at the approaching bouncers, Fiona did as she was told. No sense in getting thrown out before she had her chance to give Alex a piece of her mind.

  “Now what is going on?” Alex snapped. “If it’s not Kate, then what is this all about?”

  Fiona watched the security force near the table, her courage wavering for a moment. But then she wiggled her toes in her wet shoes and knew she had to go on.

  “It’s your own fault,” she told Alex. “You’ve been acting like a complete jerk.”

  The older woman patted Fiona’s hand. “It won’t have been the first time, I’m afraid.”

  But Fiona refused to take her eyes off Alex. His were flaring at her. He was getting impatient, but she didn’t care.

  “Well, it had better be the last,” Fiona said.

  “Sir.” The head bouncer was frowning at Alex. “Sir, we must ask this young lady to leave.”

  Alex didn’t just frown back. He glared; he almost snarled although he didn’t make a sound. The head bouncer took a step back.

  “The young lady is dining with us,” Alex informed him. “Please see that a place setting and menu are brought over.”

  The man looked at Fiona, then at Alex. It was obvious he didn’t want to let her stay, but it was also obvious that he didn’t want to make any further fuss. She fought the urge to make a face at him and studied the basket of rolls on the table.

  “Very good, sir.”

  Fiona made a face at his departing back. “This is not one of my favorite places,” she announced.

  “I don’t recall you being invited,” Alex retorted.

  “Alex!” his mother scolded.

  “Don’t ‘Alex!’ me,” he said. “She’s the one who made the scene and told me I was a jerk.”

  “I didn’t say you were a jerk,” Fiona corrected. “I said you were acting like one. There’s a difference.”

  “I fail to see it.”

  “You’ve failed to see a lot of things.” A waiter brought over her place setting but she just waved away the menu. “I’d really like a cup of hot tea. I’m a little chilled.”

  Alex’s mother touched her arm. “My dear, you’re frozen.”

  Alex slipped out of his suit coat and put it around her shoulders. His eyes were tired as if this was a battle he didn’t want to fight. “Can we get back to the issue at hand?”

  “You don’t have to worry about getting a cold,” Fiona said.

  His eyes looked confused. “I beg your pardon.”

  She slipped one sopping shoe off and held it up. “See. No need to risk your health. I walked through the water.”

  “What are you talking about?” He was reaching down and grabbed hold of one of her feet. “My God, they’re like ice.” He brought her feet up into his lap and began to massage the feeling back into them.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Fiona said. Heat was rushing over her at his touch. She was, after all, trying to behave and not cause any further scenes.

  “What isn’t? You barging in here? Calling people jerks? Or getting your feet warmed up?”

  The waiter returned with her tea, and salads for Alex and his mother.

  “Would you like some salad, my dear?” Alex’s mother offered.

  “She can have mine,” Alex said and shoved his plate so that it was in front of her. “I’m waiting for her to answer my question.”

  “I didn’t come here to eat your salad,” she said, shoving the plate back in front of him. She poured herself a cup of tea and warmed her hands on the cup.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Alex’s mother said with a gentle touch on Fiona’s arm. “But how would Alex’s health be risked if you didn’t walk in the water?”

  “A good question.”

  Fiona took a sip of her tea, then faced Alex. “You once told me that love meant walking through the puddles and not expecting you to put your coat down.”

  “I did not!” he snapped.

  She glared back at him. “Well, it was something like that.”

  “He’s usually more chivalrous than that,” his mother said. “He’s always wanted to be Sir Lancelot or King Arthur or someone like that.”

  “Mother.”

  She glared across Fiona at him. “Well, it’s true. I can’t remember how many swords you made out of cardboard and wood.”

  “Mother, Fiona’s not interested in that.”

  “Well, actually I am,” she admitted. “But it’s not the reason I came to see him. I came because he lie
d to me.”

  Anger flared again. “I did not!”

  “You lied when you said it wasn’t working out between us,” Fiona went on.

  “It wasn’t,” Alex said.

  She put her cup down, then pulled her feet from his lap, tucking them under her so that she could be in complete control. It was now or never. “You left because you found out Horace Waldo wasn’t my great-great-grandfather.”

  If ever she needed confirmation, it was there in his face. He looked stunned. All the fight seemed to go out of him. “How did you find out?”

  “Same way you did. I went down to Mentone.” Her anger left, but not the determination to win.

  “I didn’t want you to find out.”

  She took his hands in hers. “Alex, how could you think I’d rather have a dead ancestor than a live you?”

  “Who’s Horace Waldo?” his mother asked.

  Fiona glanced over her shoulder. “Not my great-great-grandfather.”

  “You relied on him,” Alex reminded.

  “I relied on you more.”

  “You talked about him all the time.”

  “All the time, Mr. Honesty?”

  He shrugged. “All right, not all the time. But enough.”

  She’d had enough of this fudging around. “Just tell me one thing,” she said. “Do you love me anywhere near as much as I love you?”

  He stopped as if frozen, but then looked away. “That’s not the issue,” he said.

  “Of course, it is. It’s the only issue. If you love me, we can work out the differences. If you don’t, then there’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Fiona-”

  “Mr. Honesty-”

  He sighed and turned her hands so that he was holding them. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “It was all settled.”

  “Nothing was settled,” she argued. “Except that you were running away from love.”

  “I am not,” he cried.

  “Sounds to me like you are,” his mother said.

  “You are,” Fiona assured him. “That’s all this boils down to. You’re caught up in your fear of commitment just like Juliet was caught in the garbage.”