Winning Amelia

by Ingrid Weaver

  “I insist.”

  “I told you that tracking down your painting was my gift to you. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t want to take advantage of you. I’d like to keep our relationship as businesslike as possible.”

  “Why? Because of what happened yesterday while we were waiting for Kemp?”

  They’d avoided the topic all day, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been there, under the surface. She should have known it would pop up eventually. “Are you referring to our argument or to the almost-kiss?”

  “Both.”

  “Well, both were mistakes,” she said. “I thought we had that straight.”

  “So did I.”

  “Then why did you try to kiss me?”

  “Good question. Would you have let me if Kemp hadn’t shown up when he did?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. We had stirred up the past. I was confused.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s what happened with me, too. The storm and all. Sort of got me thinking about the first time we kissed.”

  “Same here.”

  “But you’re not confused now?”

  The song currently playing on the radio was a rousing, foot-stomping bar song. It wasn’t the least bit romantic. Neither was the hot glare of sunshine that bounced off the car hood or the monotonous drone of the engine. The circumstances weren’t tugging loose any memories of their past encounters. Nevertheless, she was maddeningly aware of how close Hank sat, of how his scent drifted through the car, and how his short-sleeved golf shirt clung to the curve of his biceps and his large hands held the wheel as confidently as he’d cradled her face.

  No, she wasn’t confused. She knew perfectly well that he was an attractive man, as any female would attest, whatever her age happened to be. That wasn’t the issue. It also wasn’t relevant. “No, Hank,” she replied. “I know exactly what I want.”

  “Your painting.”

  “Yes. That’s all I can focus on.”

  “I’m not expecting anything in return, Amelia.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are no strings to this gift.”

  “Maybe not for you, but I don’t want to feel as if I owe you,” she said. “I’m already in debt to too many people.”

  “Still sensitive about the subject of money, huh?”

  “Yes, that tends to happen when you lose everything you own, on top of losing the life savings of people you promised to help.”

  He eased his foot off the accelerator as they came up behind an RV that was towing a boat trailer. “What happened with your company was a tough break, Amelia, but it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes, it was. I should have seen what Spencer was doing. I was inexcusably naive to have trusted him.”

  “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”

  “Hindsight sucks.”

  “Sometimes it does, but you have to stop blaming yourself over what he did. If the cops and their forensic accountants couldn’t recover the money, you can’t expect to have been able to yourself.”

  She glanced at him. “It sounds as if you kept track of the story.”

  He lifted one hand from the wheel briefly. “Some. Enough to say again that it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Thanks, but—”

  “No, Amelia. We can’t predict what someone else will do, even people we think we love.”

  Was he referring to her marriage, or to their own failed romance?

  There was really no comparison. Hank’s betrayal had hurt, yet that pain had been private. Spencer’s betrayal had been viewed by millions when some enterprising bystander at Pearson Airport had captured his arrest on her cell phone. The footage had played over and over, first on the internet and then on TV. After all, it had everything guaranteed to up the ratings: crime, violence and sex.

  Amelia hadn’t been blind only to her husband’s embezzlement of their clients’ funds. She’d also been blind to his unfaithfulness. He’d been attempting to leave the country with his mistress when the police had moved in. He’d resisted arrest and been wrestled to the floor in front of the gate while his blonde trophy bimbo had defended her man by jumping on one officer’s back and swatting him with her purse. It had made for great television. Once the footage had done the rounds of the news shows, it had found new life on the late-night comedy programs.

  She ought to be grateful to the bimbo. She might not have been able to prove her innocence otherwise. As her lawyer had argued in court, since Amelia had been oblivious enough not to realize her husband was having an affair, it stood to reason that she had been equally oblivious to the fact he was bilking their clients.

  The stupidity defense. The judge had believed it. Lucky her.

  Yet for one precious hour a week ago, she had believed her luck had changed. It had felt incredible, like stepping outside and taking a deep breath of fresh air after being locked in a prison cell. The past had lost its grip and she would be able to start anew, atone for her mistakes, take care of her family, have a clean slate and a future....

  She rubbed her eyes. “I have to get that painting.”

  “There’s a good chance we will now, Amelia. We know who bought it, and we know where it’s going.”

  “As long as we get to the gallery before it’s sold again.” Or before Rupert Whitcombe stumbles on the lottery ticket. She dropped her hands as she felt the car decelerate. They were traveling more slowly now than they had been on the highway. She glared at the back end of the ski boat on the trailer in front of them. It was a large, fiberglass number with two huge black outboard motors clamped to the stern. The blades of both propellers turned lazily in the wind, as if mocking them. “Can’t you pass him?”

  “That RV plus the trailer takes up the space of about four regular cars, and I can’t see far enough ahead here. Besides, it’s a double line.” As he spoke, a van pulled out from behind them and sped by on their left. Tires squealed as it cut directly in front of them just as a dump truck rumbled past in the oncoming lane. Hank tapped the brakes, backing off farther. “It’s only a few more kilometers before we turn south anyway. Hopefully he’ll keep going straight.”

  Amelia turned her glare on him. “Let me drive. I’ll get us past him.”

  “No.”

  “Hank...”

  “I realize the painting is important to you, Amelia. I get that. But whatever it symbolizes, it is just a painting. It’s not worth taking dumb risks for.”

  “Sure, but—”

  “It’s not going to change your life by itself. You’re the only one who can do that.”

  “Since when did you get so philosophical?”

  “Just being realistic. Chasing the painting is the same thing as you wanting to phone the gallery a few minutes ago. It’s not practical but it makes you feel as if you’re getting somewhere.”

  “Isn’t that the whole point?”

  “Sometimes patience can pay off.”

  “Not in my experience.”

  “All I’m saying is there’s no shortcut to the future. You’ve got to get there one step at a time.”

  “Fine, Mr. Socrates, but where does it say those steps have to be a slow walk? I’d rather sprint.”

  “Yeah, that’s you, all right.”

  “I told you we’re different.”

  He made a noise similar to one of Will’s grunts. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do once you get the painting back?”

  Oh, yes, she’d thought about it. Every night for a week, she’d dreamed of little else. New cars and a new house, an education fund for the boys, a vacation cruise and spiffy wardrobes for Will and Jenny plus a generous reward for Hank...all of that wouldn’t put much of a dent in fifty-two million. She would have plenty left to establish a trust fund for her former clients. It wouldn’t make up for what they lost, but it would be a good start. “Some,” she said.

  “You might need something to tide you over since you lost your job at Mae B’s.”

  �
�Are you offering me a loan?”

  “If you need it, sure. I have a lot of contacts in town, too. I could ask around and see who’s hiring.”

  So much for feeling free and breathing fresh air. Guilt rolled over her in a choking, sticky haze. The pit she’d dug for herself when she’d lied to Hank just kept getting deeper. She sighed and nibbled the inside of her lip.

  The truth was going to come out as soon as they reached the Whitcombe Gallery and she retrieved the ticket. Giving Hank a reward wouldn’t stop him from being furious when he learned how she’d deceived him. He would also be hurt. Is that how she wanted to repay him for his help? Regardless of the pain he’d caused her when they’d been teenagers, he’d proven through his actions during this past week that he’d grown up to become a sensitive, decent and considerate man. The more time they spent together, the more she had to admit that he truly was nothing like Spencer.

  He patted her knee. “Don’t go getting all sensitive about the money again, okay? I just want to help.”

  His touch made her jerk.

  He sighed and withdrew his hand. “Don’t get all sensitive about that, either. It was just a friendly pat.”

  Tell him! her conscience screamed.

  But tell him what? That she’d lied to him and was using him?

  Or should she tell him that she was still attracted to him and wished Kemp had arrived home a little bit later yesterday so she wouldn’t have to keep wondering how the grown-up Hank kissed?

  Or maybe she should simply tell him the whole truth, that she was a complete mess and didn’t trust herself to decide anything.

  He took his gaze off the road to look at her.

  And because he was looking at her, he didn’t immediately notice when the van that had cut in front of him pulled out to pass the RV with the boat trailer.

  A horn blared. Brakes screeched. Amelia shouted a warning.

  Hank whipped his gaze back to the road just as the van met a pickup in the oncoming lane.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IF THE TRAFFIC had been moving only a fraction faster, the outcome would have been tragic. As it was, both drivers had a chance to avert a head-on collision. The front bumper of the oncoming pickup truck merely clipped the back end of the van. Nevertheless, the strength of the impact was enough to spin the van onto the opposite shoulder. The pickup careened off the side of the RV and sent the oversize vehicle into a twisting skid that jackknifed the boat trailer.

  Hank instinctively hauled the wheel to the right and steered for the ditch to avoid being caught in the accident. A thudding crash sounded from the road behind them, along with more screeching tires. Momentum carried his car down the grassy embankment and up the other side until the front right fender crumpled against a fence post.

  It was more of a hard bump than a crash, but it was enough to shatter a headlight and set off the airbags. The force of the plastic hitting his face stunned him. He shook it off and clawed the deflating bags aside, his thoughts only on his passenger. “Amelia!”

  The car was tilted up on her side. She was held in place by the seat belt, her head lolling. She wasn’t moving. His heart stopped for an instant, but then she turned her head and looked at him, her eyes wide with shock, her breathing fast and shallow. “Hank?”

  The engine had cut out at the impact, but the radio was still on, the announcer droning a news report. Hank shut it off and pulled the key out of the ignition, then unlocked his seat belt and twisted toward her. He kept one foot against his door to maintain his balance. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He ran his hands over her arms, her shoulders, everywhere he could reach. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

  “No.” She blinked hard. As soon as she focused on him, her breathing steadied. “Hank, you’re bleeding!”

  “I’m all right.”

  “No, you’re not! You’re bleeding!” She braced her feet against the console between the seats and stretched her arm to touch the corner of his lips.

  He tasted blood. He probed his mouth with his tongue and realized the tip stung. He swallowed, then kissed her fingers. “It’s nothing. I must have bitten my tongue when the airbag hit me. Which is better than tripping over it, like I usually do. My tongue, I mean, not the airbag.”

  She made a noise that was closer to a sob than to a laugh. Her eyes filled with tears. “If you can joke, you must be okay.” She stroked his hair from his forehead, then glanced past him. She gasped.

  Hank followed her gaze.

  The RV had come to a stop crosswise to the road, blocking the traffic in both directions. Glass and scraps of metal littered the pavement. People had gotten out of their cars and were already converging on the accident scene. The driver’s door of the van that had caused the accident hung open and a dazed-looking woman was being helped outside. A cut on her forehead was her only visible injury. Beside the pickup truck, a thin blond man, likely the driver, sat on the pavement holding his wrist to his chest. An elderly couple leaned against the RV, their expressions bewildered as they surveyed the destruction behind them. The trailer they had been towing was empty—the boat had been knocked loose and had crashed to the pavement.

  It was precisely where Hank’s car would have been if he hadn’t taken the ditch.

  Amelia pulled the handle on her door. It was jammed shut by the fence and didn’t budge. Hank tried his own door. The lower edge hit the ground before the door could open completely, leaving just enough space for him to squeeze through. He reached back for Amelia. At the motion, pain bloomed in his left shoulder. He rotated it cautiously, decided it was merely bruised, and helped Amelia slide out of the car and get to her feet.

  A plump woman wearing a Jays baseball cap jogged along the edge of the road toward them. She shouted as she drew near to ask if they needed help. When she saw they didn’t, she spoke into the cell phone she was holding and continued past them to the couple beside the RV.

  With so many people milling around the road, Hank decided it would be best to remain out of the way until the authorities arrived. He leaned against the trunk of his car and curled his arm around Amelia’s waist. He could feel her trembling. Or was that him? She pressed her head to his shoulder. It was his unbruised one, but even if it had been the other, he wouldn’t have cared. Right now, he needed the contact. He didn’t want to lose her. Sure, he’d lost her once before, but not...forever.

  Something shifted inside him at the thought, like a lens finally adjusting to the right focus. No, he didn’t want to lose her again. He shouldn’t have let her go fifteen years ago. If he hadn’t, maybe she wouldn’t have married Spencer. Then she wouldn’t have had her life stolen from under her, and she wouldn’t have been so emotionally strung out that she’d become obsessed with a meaningless painting.

  He rubbed his cheek against her hair, immersing himself in sensations he’d never thought he would feel again, but had always hoped he would. There was no point deluding himself any longer. He’d never gotten over Amelia. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken on this ridiculous case.

  If that made him a fool, well, so be it. There were too many things he should have told her years ago, more he wanted to say now...but even he wasn’t idiotic enough to confess his feelings while they leaned against a wrecked car in the middle of a ditch.

  Yet even if they’d been surrounded by soft music and candlelight, that wouldn’t have helped. It didn’t take a genius to see that Amelia was still healing from the scars Spencer had left her with. Her determination to pursue the painting made that obvious. Declaring his feelings might make Hank feel better, but it wouldn’t make her happy. She might not believe him, anyway, and he couldn’t blame her, considering the mess he’d made of it the last time. Right now, there was only one thing she wanted from him, which she’d made abundantly clear. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Why? Hank, look at that boat. Your driving saved our lives.”

  “I mean I’m sorry this had to happen. We’ll need a tow truck to get t
he car back on the road. It could be a while.”

  A siren wailed in the distance. She shuddered. “At least we don’t need an ambulance. No one else seems badly hurt, either. I can’t believe how fast it all happened.”

  “The damage doesn’t seem that serious, but if my car’s out of commission, my insurance will pay for a rental.”

  “It could have been a lot worse. We were lucky.” She turned her head to look at the car. “Oh, no!”

  He followed her gaze. Through the rear windshield he saw the mirror Hazel had sold them was no longer leaning on the backseat. The brass frame was intact, but the rest was in jagged pieces.

  “I didn’t think my luck could get worse, but that’s another seven years...” Amelia’s words trailed off. She inhaled sharply. “Hank, my painting!” She pulled out of his embrace. “The gallery!”

  “We’ll go tomorrow.”

  “We can’t! The gallery’s not open tomorrow.” She put her palms on the car, as if she meant to push it back on the road herself. “We have to go now. We have to get there before it closes!”

  “That’s what I’m apologizing about. Doesn’t look as if we’ll make it there today.”

  * * *

  “YOU LIED TO me.”

  “No, I never lied. I just didn’t tell you everything.”

  “Why? Did you think it didn’t concern me? I had a right to know.”

  “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt your feelings.”

  “What did you think I would feel when I found out? Gratitude? For being deceived?”

  The words were mere whispers, scarcely loud enough to wake her. Amelia opened her eyes groggily. Dawn was inching into the corners of the room. The tops of the maples in the backyard glowed golden in the rising sun. It couldn’t be morning already, could it? She felt as if she’d just gotten to sleep. She must be dreaming the conversation. She’d imagined plenty of variations of it while she’d lain awake last night.

  “Please, don’t get upset. I had hoped it would have only been for a few days, a week at the most. I hadn’t wanted to tell you until it was over.”

  “I thought we were a team.”