“Come on, Amy,” Ronni said, gathering up the trash. “I think it’s time we left, too.”
“Why do they do that?” Amy asked, her little face a knot of vexation as she stared through the swinging glass doors to the parking lot where her cousins were climbing into Shelly’s big car.
“What? Oh, you mean the boys? Why they fight? It’s just natural, I guess. Aunt Shelly and I used to fight.”
“No!”
“All the time. It drove Grandma nuts.” She tossed the trash into one of the containers near the door, then paused to help Amy zip her jacket.
“You don’t fight anymore.”
“Oh, but we did, like cats and dogs, even though we were really each other’s best friend. I know it sounds silly, but it’s true. Kurt and Kent will get over it, too. But not for a long, long time.”
“It’s a pain,” Amy said as Ronni tied her hood in place.
“I’ll second that.”
“If I had a sister, I’d never fight with her.”
Ronni laughed as she searched for her car keys.
“So why don’t I?” her daughter demanded.
“Have a sister?” Ronni asked as she pushed open the door. “I thought you wanted a puppy.”
“I do!” Amy said with a grin, her attention derailed from the subject of a sibling, a painful subject that came up every once in a while. Long ago, Ronni had promised herself she’d never have an only child, that because of her close relationship with her sister, she’d want Amy to have a brother or sister. Hank had agreed, for the opposite reason. He’d had no brothers or sisters and thought he’d missed out.
But then fate had stepped in and taken him and any plans for another baby.
“Come on,” Ronni said, refusing to dwell on the past. She planned to make it her New Year’s resolution that she’d start living her life for the future, not for the past. And she didn’t have to wait until New Year’s—she could make that resolution today, even though there were several weeks of this year left.
They stepped into the parking lot just as Shelly’s car eased into traffic. Ronni tried to envision her sister with another baby and she smiled. Shelly was cut out to be a mother—she was right, things would work out. “Have faith,” she told herself.
“What?” Amy screwed up her face and stared up at her.
“Nothing, sweetheart. Hey, let’s go see what they’ve got in there,” she said, pointing across the street to the variety store that had stood on the corner of Main Street and Douglas Avenue for as long as she could remember. The display window was filled with Christmas decor—lights, ribbon, tinsel, everything a person would need to decorate their house…or an old hunting lodge. Ronnie held on to her daughter’s hand and walked briskly to the cross walk. Shelly’s words followed after her, accusing her of misinterpreting Keegan’s offer, and Ronni decided there was no time like the present to right a wrong. Or to eat humble pie. Gritting her teeth, she pushed open the door of the little shop and heard Jake, the owner’s parakeet, whistle out a throaty, “Come in, come in.”
“Ronni and Amy!” Ada Hampton, the proprietor, grinned, showing, perfect, if false, teeth. A woman with wide hips and a wider smile, she’d stood behind the same cash register since her husband died thirty years ago. “What a nice surprise.” Wearing a crisp red apron, she waddled through a narrow opening in the counter. “What can I do for you?”
“I wish I knew,” Ronni replied, not really knowing where to start.
Ada reached into a voluminous pocket and pulled out a green sucker. “This is for you,” she said to Amy. “You know, I used to give suckers to your mother and her sister when they were about your age,” she said. “But that was a long time ago.”
Jake, hopping from one perch to the other, whistled out a sharp, “Hey, honey, what’cha doin’?”
“What’re you doin’?” Amy responded, licking on her sucker and staring up at the green-and-yellow bird.
“Come in. Come in,” Jake said.
“Silly bird!” But Amy giggled and Jake bobbed his little head wildly.
Ada chuckled and reached for a tissue. Dabbing eyes that were always running from her allergies, she said, “Now, is there anything special you want today?”
“Lights, ribbon, garlands, the works,” she replied, wondering if she was out of her mind. She only had a vague notion of what she planned to do, but it included landing on Travis Keegan’s doorstep with a small fortune in Christmas decor. She only hoped he still wanted it. After their last conversation, there was a good chance she might end up with a door slammed in her face. “Do you have anything on sale—like last year’s stuff?” she asked while mentally calculating what she had in stock at home and in the warehouse. Most of her mail-order Christmas inventory had been sold, but there were still a few garlands, bells and spools of ribbon. She could cut boughs of holly and cedar from some trees in her backyard. With a little money, a lot of imagination and some work, she could make the old lodge look like a Christmas picture postcard.
“I’ve still got a few things,” Ada said, leading her to a sale table where most of the items had already been picked over. “Not much left, I’m afraid, but what’s here is at bargain-basement prices.”
“I think I can find what I need.” Ronni picked up a large spool of red-and-white gingham ribbon that had been marked down to half price. “This’ll do just fine.”
*
Over the thrumming beat of hard rock, Travis heard a buzzing. He listened, heard the noise again and put down his screwdriver. He’d been trying to fix the bathroom door as it wouldn’t latch, and pieces of the lock were strewn across the counter. “What the devil?”
The noise quit again and suddenly there was a loud pounding on the front door. The doorbell! Of course. Something was wrong with it and the chimes were reduced to a static-laden, irritating buzz.
Thinking one of the contractors had returned to pick up a forgotten tool, he threw open the door and found Ronni and her daughter on the front porch. Involuntarily, his throat tightened at the sight of her. Wearing oven mitts, Ronni was holding a white pan, covered in aluminum foil. The scents of tomato sauce and cheese seeped out in the steam rising from a slit in the foil. “I, uh, think I owe you an apology,” Ronni said quickly. “I didn’t mean to come unglued this afternoon when you asked me to help you, you just kind of blindsided me and…I overreacted. I brought a peace offering.” She held up the pan and more tantalizing odors wafted from the dish.
“So you’re here to…?”
“Boy, I wish I knew,” she said, shaking her head. “How about to eat a little crow?”
“Crow?” Amy, bundled in a yellow snowsuit, wrinkled her nose and acted as if Ronni had lost her mind. “It’s lasagna, Mommy.”
“That it is.” She winked at her daughter. “I guess I forgot.” She took in a long breath and squared her shoulders. “Look, you can’t imagine how awkward I feel—this is really not my style, but here goes…” Meeting his gaze squarely, she said, “I thought we should start over and I’m going to try and be more neighborly, so Amy and I brought dinner and some Christmas decorations and if the invitation’s still on, we’ll have that tree-trimming party you wanted.”
He couldn’t stop the smile that crept from one side of his mouth to the other.
“Unless you’ve already eaten or have other plans,” she added hastily.
“No plans and we’re starved.” Thoughtfully rubbing his chin, he pinned her with a stare he knew was sometimes disturbing. “You know, Ms. Walsh,” he drawled, “I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Come in’ would be nice or ‘Gee, thanks. Apology accepted’ would do. I’d even go for, ‘Woman, I’m starving. Thank God you showed up!’”
Travis laughed. Seeing her standing on the porch with her face upturned, her cheeks rosy with the cold, he felt an unlikely stirring deep in his heart that was completely out of line. She was here offering food, for crying out loud. “Okay, here goes. Woman, I’m starving. Thank God you showed up.”
“That’s much better.” As he stepped out of the way, she strode into the house. Amy wasn’t going to be left on the porch, and clutching a bag full of some kind of tinsel, she followed her mother.
“Can I help?” he asked Ronni, a little bewildered by her change of heart. Why was it he felt as if he’d just won a major battle?
“I thought you’d never ask,” she teased. “The van needs to be unloaded.”
“You brought more things?”
“A few,” she said, then laughed lightly and the sound seemed to echo through the house. Her dark eyes sparkled and she shook the snow from her hair. “When Amy and I are asked to trim a tree, we come prepared, don’t we?”
Amy nodded, but stuck close to her mother, eyeing the high ceilings and mantel as if she expected ghosts, goblins and an assortment of demons to fly down the chimney and, cackling evilly, snatch her away.
“You’ve done a lot with the place,” Ronni said as she stopped at the step leading down to the living area and gazed across the polished floors to the bank of windows stretching along the back wall. Beyond the glass, the lake, dark and serene, was visible through snow-dusted strands of hemlock and fir trees.
“We’ve still got a long way to go, though. I’d like to restore it the way the original architect would have liked it—well, as much as possible, and still bring it up to the local building code. But that’s going to take a while and now that Bryan’s laid up, all those father-son projects have become just father jobs.”
Her eyes seemed to search every nook and cranny, exploring the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, now empty, each stone of the large fireplace and every exposed beam in the ceiling. “It really is beautiful,” she said, placing her warm pan down on a small table and using an oven mitt as a pot holder. Running a finger along the time-smoothed banister leading to the second floor, she gazed up at the railing of the reading loft. “I remember when there used to be huge parties thrown here and my sister and I would hide in the shrubbery and watch expensive cars line the driveway.” She walked to the windows and stared into the chilly darkness where soft moon glow played upon the inky waters of the lake. “Sometimes the Johnsons would hire a singer, other times a piano player or a band and they always strung Japanese lanterns down the path and along the dock into the lake.”
“Dock?”
“It’s gone now,” she said. “No one’s brought a boat in here in years.” She cleared her throat, but a trace of sadness seemed to linger in her eyes. “Oh, well, ancient history.” She managed a smile as she grabbed the steaming pan again. “I’d better take this down to the kitchen or it’ll get cold.”
“I guess I’ll unload the van,” he offered, wondering what she had brought and feeling guilty that she had obviously spent not only time but money in her attempt to apologize and be neighborly. Somehow he’d have to make it up to her, but he doubted, from her reaction in the ski lodge earlier, that she’d take a check. “The kitchen’s down that hallway and through—”
But she was already on her way, walking swiftly along the corridor as if she was as familiar with this drafty old lodge as she was with her own snug little cabin. Her daughter was right on her heels, never letting Ronni out of her sight and sometimes glancing nervously behind her.
Travis stood at the door a second, watching her swing down the hall. Black jeans hugged her hips and a red vest and white blouse peeked out from beneath a short woolen jacket. A scarf was wound around her neck and her black hair bounced and gleamed beneath the lights. Her back was ramrod straight, her footsteps determined—a no-nonsense lady with a vulnerability that she tried so hard to hide. He wondered what it was about her that he found so very fascinating?
A cold gust of wind reminded him that he was standing in the middle of the hallway, gaping and practically drooling, like some sex-crazed adolescent with a bad crush. “Damn it all,” he muttered, not bothering with a jacket as he broke a trail through the snow to her van.
He was used to attractive, aggressive women. He’d met them in the workplace. Usually trim and sleek, always well-groomed and well-spoken, they could be bold and brash, or quiet and sedate, but they were all determined and came with their own agendas—hidden or otherwise. He’d dealt with them on a daily basis before and after his divorce. Some of the women were aggressive not only in their jobs but in their personal relationships, as well.
He’d been chased, propositioned and almost seduced by strong-willed women who, beautiful though they had been, hadn’t interested him. Nor had he been attracted to the few homebodies he’d met through mutual friends, often desperate women who looked at him as if he were an answer to their prayers—a wealthy man who could help them quit chasing after deadbeat ex-husbands for child support, a means to get rid of their boring jobs.
He’d never been tempted, hadn’t even started an affair that he knew would only end badly. In fact, he’d convinced himself that he was now a confirmed bachelor.
Until now.
Until he’d seen Veronica Walsh deal with his injured boy.
Until he’d seen how she handled her imp of a daughter.
Until he’d looked into those dark, knowing eyes that could penetrate all his defenses or twinkle with laughter.
She’d started to change his mind about women because she’d been so different. Strong, yet vulnerable, with a quick tongue and sharp wit. But there was something more, something deeper—a sadness—that touched him and made him feel as if he wanted to fold her into his arms and tell her everything would be all right. Hell, he was losing it. He didn’t even know her, for crying out loud, and here he was fantasizing about her.
The back of the van was stacked with boxes and sacks. For the love of Saint Peter, she must have spent a small fortune. His guilt started eating at him. She was a single mother and she couldn’t afford whatever it was she’d come up with.
Gritting his teeth, he carried in two boxes, then returned for four more sacks, which he set in the living room. He paused once to knock on Bryan’s door and let himself in. While the beat of some grunge band was throbbing through the room, Bryan was lying on his back lifting weights.
His son slid a glance his way when he turned the volume of the stereo down several decibels.
“Hey!” Bryan complained.
“You’re going to go deaf with this so loud.”
“Who gives a rip?” Bryan was still giving him the cold shoulder and hoping to back Travis into a corner of guilt so that he’d break down and let him spend some of the holidays in Seattle.
“We’ve got company.”
Bryan tried hard to keep his gaze flat and his expression bored, but he couldn’t quite hide the curiosity that rose to the surface.
“Ronni Walsh and her daughter.”
“The three-year-old you told me about?” Bryan pulled a face and pushed the weights off his chest.
“Actually, I think she’s four.”
“No difference. Still a little kid.” He lowered the bar.
Travis wasn’t going to argue with him. “Just put on a clean shirt, wash your hands and come into the kitchen. Ronni brought dinner.”
“Why?”
“I asked her to help us decorate the house.”
“Oh pleeease, Travis. You didn’t.” Again he lifted the bar and weights away from his body, his muscles straining.
“I did and it’s going to be fun.”
“Yeah, a blast,” Bryan grumbled.
“I’ll see you in five minutes,” Travis said and closed the door behind him. He could only hope that Bryan’s appetite, which had been phenomenal of late, would force him to comply so that they wouldn’t have to get into another one of their knock-down-and-drag-out arguments.
Delicious aromas drifted from the kitchen and as Travis pushed open the swinging doors, he found Ronni tossing a salad and Amy standing on a chair beside her. The table was already set. Two candles were already lit and dripping wax down the sides of old wine bottles. The flames reflected in dozens of flickering lights upon
the mullioned windows surrounding the table.
“I hate cucumbers,” the little girl was saying.
Ronni wasn’t intimidated. “Too bad, I like ’em.”
“And I hate tomatoes.”
“Not tomatoes. These are red peppers, and they’re good for you.”
“Then I hate red peppers.”
“Fine, pick around them.”
“I hate salad.”
“I know, I know, but I don’t really care. You’re going to eat some, anyway.” Ronni blew her bangs out of her eyes but looked up when the door creaked shut. With an exasperated smile, she said, “We’re in a negative mood tonight. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m used to it. Negativity seems to be a way of life around here these days. Remember, I told you it doesn’t get any better.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” She sprinkled an oil-and-vinegar dressing over the salad greens and he was taken with how natural it seemed for her to be bustling around the kitchen. “I assume Bryan’s joining us?”
“He is if he doesn’t want to be grounded for the rest of his life.”
“I’m here,” Bryan announced as he hitched himself through the swinging doors and scowled at the crowded room.
“Good. How’re you feeling?” Ronni asked.
“Compared to what?”
“Well, compared to, ‘Gee, I feel great, I think I could run a marathon,’ that’s a ten—”
He snorted derisively.
“Or ‘I feel so crummy—like I’ve been run over by a steam roller and I think I’ll curl up and die,’ that’s a zero.”
“About a minus six, okay?” he grumbled and Travis felt the familiar tensing of his jaw.
Ronni’s eyes glittered merrily. “Funny, you don’t look near death’s door, but then it’s been said that looks can be deceiving. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come over and exercise my horses, but, if you’re too sore—”
“Horses?” Bryan’s head snapped up.
Memories: A Husband to RememberNew Year's Daddy (Hqn) Page 31