by Leslie Kelly
“I’m afraid we are showing our age, my dear,” Roderick finally said, his laughter dying but his smile remaining.
“Don’t you dare imply that I’m old,” she replied tartly. “You may think that of yourself, but I am quite as vigorous and happy as a fifty-year-old.” That might be a stretch. Her knees sometimes felt more like those belonging to a hundred-and-fifty-year-old.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, old gel,” he replied with a teasing chuckle. He made sure she knew he was teasing her by reaching over and covering her hand with his to give it a squeeze.
Time stopped for Emily. She stared down at his hand, covering hers. It was the first purely affectionate touch he’d offered her, and it delighted her so much she wanted to bring his fingers up and press tiny kisses on the tips of them, the way she had with her nieces and nephews when they’d been babies.
But the tingle she felt deep inside didn’t resemble her gentle feelings for babies. This was much warmer.
As if just realizing he was holding her hand, Roderick slowly pulled away, lifting it to the steering wheel. But Emily felt sure a smile remained on his mouth, and the comfortable aura in the car did not fade.
When they reached the turnoff for the park, Roderick didn’t ask her if that was where she wanted to go. He obviously knew. He drove his luxurious car right through the woods, parking in the same spot they’d parked with Mr. Potts and Ivy the previous day.
“How lovely the birds sound without the cluck of Miss Feeney’s conversation,” Roderick said as he helped her out.
Emily snickered, though it probably wasn’t very ladylike. Or particularly nice. But heaven knew she’d been at the receiving end of a lot of Ivy’s spite over the years.
During yesterday’s impromptu picnic, they’d had to make do on dusty, splintery picnic tables. Today, though, Emily had thought to bring a tablecloth. She spread it out as Roderick slipped off his sports coat and tossed it into his car. “Much better,” she murmured. “Though don’t you want to loosen up some of those buttons?” Then she noticed the glint of gold in his cuffs. “Sorry. Cuff links,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Are you making sport of me?” he asked, one brow rising high above the other.
“Oh, no, everyone knows those newfangled button cuffs are never going to stay in style. You’re simply ahead of the curve.”
Roderick’s mouth opened and he sputtered for a moment, then a laugh emerged. “Emily Baker, you are in a wicked mood today.”
Emily put down the wedge of cheese and loaf of bread she’d just unpacked. Staring at him across the table, she admitted, “I’m afraid I’m being myself today, Mr. Ward. The Emily Baker you’ve been getting to know hasn’t exactly represented the real me. I’m much more…down to earth than you might have realized.”
He had unclasped his cuff links, and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were still strong, lightly tanned, his hands rougher than anyone would imagine for a seventy-eight-year-old butler. Evidence of the tough, adventurous life he and Mr. Potts had lived. Oh, how she longed to hear more about it. And perhaps share in just one adventure with him.
“Come have something to eat,” she said, sitting on the bench and gesturing to the other side. “Will you open that?”
He glanced at the bottle of wine, then at her. “Oh?”
“I’m sure it’s not quite your usual, but we’re having an elegant picnic today. Yesterday was fried chicken and nasty tea from Tootie’s Tavern. Today I thought we’d be more fancy.”
“I concur,” he said as he opened the bottle. Fortunately, it was the kind that required a wine opener—which she’d found after doing some digging in a kitchen drawer. If it had been a screw-off type, Emily might have sunk under the table, convinced more than ever that she and Roderick had nothing in common.
But as they ate, chatting and laughing lightly, she was able to convince herself otherwise. It didn’t even take that much convincing. Because today, under the brilliant blue sky and the canopy of trees filled with gaily chirping birds, Roderick was absolutely delightful. Charming and friendly, warm, personable. Everything she’d hoped he’d be—everything he had not been when she’d been trying so hard to make him see her as the perfect sedate, deserving woman of the movies.
Today she was being herself…following her heart, two of the main things Allie had insisted she’d do. And it was working.
There was, of course, still that third thing. But she honestly didn’t know if she’d have the nerve to do it.
As the afternoon wore on and they finished their picnic, they strolled toward the water. Emily even kicked off her sandals, walking barefoot in the cool grass. Her corns might pay her back later, but for now, the spongy, mossy ground felt too delightful to care.
“Shall we sit and enjoy the water?” Roderick asked.
Nodding, Emily watched as he shook out the blanket he’d been carrying over his arm. He carefully spread it over the grass a few feet from the water’s edge, and the two of them slowly lowered themselves onto it, helping one another down. They sat there for the longest time, chatting, staring at the ducks on the lake. Even tossing small stones into it.
Eventually, with the sun blazing in the mid-afternoon sky, it grew a bit too hot for either of them to remain outside. They cleaned up their picnic and got back into Roderick’s air-conditioned car. Emily had a smile on her face during the entire trip to her house. Because surely now…certainly after this lovely day, he would not simply leave her at her door with a handshake and an impersonal smile.
But a few minutes later, when they stood on the front stoop of her house, that was exactly what he did. He nodded. He thanked her. He extended his hand and took hers in it, giving it a small squeeze. His eyes met hers for a moment, during which she held her breath, waiting for him to say something. To do something.
He didn’t. Instead, with a promise to call her soon, he turned to walk away, the afternoon sun bringing an angelic sheen to the few strands of blond left in his gray hair.
Emily’s mouth fell open in shock. She simply could not believe this had happened. Again. They’d been intimate in so many other ways, and now, after they’d held hands and reclined in the grass and shared a few glasses of wine, he didn’t even have the courtesy to kiss her on the cheek.
“You coward,” she said, not sure who she was speaking to.
He obviously heard. Pausing, he turned on his heel, tilted his head and glanced at her quizzically. “I beg your pardon?”
Emily felt heat rise in her cheeks. She sucked her lips into her mouth, frozen with indecision. Should she let him go, try again next time, or tell him that he’d hurt her? Or just do as Allie said and take the kiss she so desperately wanted.
One thing made up her mind: the empty driveway. Damon had taken Allie and the baby on an all-day shopping trip out of town. Emily suspected Allie had arranged it on purpose, to ensure Emily would have plenty of privacy. For…whatever.
“Did you say something, Miss Baker?” Roderick asked.
That “Miss Baker” did it. Now she began to see red. Stepping down off the stoop, she strode over to him, letting the empty picnic hamper and the blanket fall to the ground.
Roderick looked down at them, his brow shooting up in surprise, but Emily didn’t give him a chance to bend over and get them. “Don’t you Miss Baker me.”
“Wha—?”
“I’ve been Emily all day. And I’ll remove that Miss Baker from your mouth if it’s the last thing I do.”
So she did. Throwing her arms around his neck, she leaned up on tiptoe and physically hauled the tall man down toward her. His gray eyes flared in shock, which almost cost her her nerve. But somehow, Emily screwed her courage down tight, then pressed her closed lips against his.
He hesitated for a second, during which she felt sure she’d just made the biggest fool of herself the world had ever seen. Then, miracle of miracles, he embraced her in return. His strong arms circled her shoulders, his lips softened against hers. He held her tightly, kissi
ng her on and on, right out here in broad daylight in front of God and everyone.
She, Emily Baker, seventy-four-year-old spinster, was getting her first real kiss in full view of the entire street where she’d grown up. And she didn’t give a damn.
Finally, when she wondered how she was supposed to breathe when her nose was squished against his cheek and their lips were glued together, he slowly pulled away. But he didn’t let her out of his arms, keeping her right where she was.
He smiled down at her. “My dear Miss…Emily.”
She gulped in a deep mouthful of air, wondering how people kissed for so long without breathing. She’d have to ask Allie. Or else try it again and…experiment. Maybe that was another reason for those open-mouthed kisses she’d seen people exchange.
“You have quite taken me by surprise.”
“Didn’t you…like it?”
His eyes glittered and he nodded, holding on to her as though he’d never let her go. She could think of few better ways to spend her time than wrapped in the strong, steady arms of this courtly gentleman. “I most certainly did. Frankly, I’ve been telling myself that I could ask nothing more of you than friendship. That I’m too old to offer you anything else, and I have nothing left that you’d want.”
Emily tilted her head back to stare into his eyes. “You have so much that I want, Roderick. A kind smile and a warm heart. Strength and compassion and intelligence.” An impish impulse made her add, “And quite a nice kiss.”
He pressed harder against her, so that she could feel just what else he had to offer her. It took a moment for her to understand, and when she did, Emily suddenly felt dizzy. She knew how things worked, technically, but couldn’t quite grasp it. She had actually inspired a man to true passion for the first time in her life…at this late point in her life.
“Roderick, I’ve been alone. Always.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’ve had family and friends. But there’s been no…no one. No romance. No love affairs. No relationships.”
He appeared puzzled, then his lips parted in a slight gasp as he caught her meaning. He immediately tried to step back, but Emily kept her arms tightly around his neck.
“My dear…”
“Please don’t let me go,” she whispered. “Don’t stop introducing me to what I’ve missed.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’ve no intention of letting you go. Only, do you suppose we could continue this inside? Away from prying eyes?” Gently kissing her temple, he whispered, “I have much more to introduce you to. Much, much more.”
Neither of them said another word—they didn’t need to. Instead, Emily turned back toward the house, waiting as he bent to pick up the basket and the blanket. Then he took her arm, led her to her porch, opened the door for her.
And then, he spent the rest of the day introducing her, for the first time, to the true meaning of romantic love.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gentlemen, when your wife asks you to “be honest” about whether you’re having an affair, it’s not one of those "Does my butt look fat in this dress?” questions where you can be cagey and fudge a little. She means it. You answer yes or no. Just remember, if you answer yes, it might be the last question you’ll ever be able to answer…because you might no longer have a tongue. Or a face.
—Why Arsenic Is Better Than Divorce by Jennifer Feeney
JEN DEPARTED FOR TROUBLE an hour after Mike left the penthouse. She’d promised him she wouldn’t go back to her apartment, but no matter how much he’d tried to convince her, he’d been unable to exact her promise not to go to Pennsylvania. He’d been angry when he’d left. She’d been heartbroken.
Because whether they said the words or not, they both knew they’d reached the end of their short journey together. No matter how wonderful things had been between them, those same issues lurking in the background since they’d met had never quite disappeared. And they’d popped out to derail them the moment they’d hit a bend in the road.
No matter what they felt for one another—and Jen strongly suspected Mike had feelings for her, as she did for him—they couldn’t change who they were. He wasn’t going to stop being an overprotective, arrogant he-man who thought he could keep things from her and order her around for her own good. And she couldn’t stop being an independent woman who resented the hell out of his attitude.
Maybe…Maybe they could have gotten past it. Opposites did, after all, sometimes have successful relationships. If that were all, maybe she would have waited in the penthouse. She could have planned what to say to him when he returned, making it clear that if he didn’t let up, she was going to follow her own books’ advice and throw a frying pan at his head.
But that wasn’t all. Mike had secretly investigated her aunt. He’d dug out the old case file, not even telling her the truth about what he really did for the police department. That Jennifer found nearly unforgivable.
If he continued, and actually got her aunt in trouble with the law after all these years, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forgive him.
And given his integrity and honesty—not to mention his profession—she didn’t know if he’d ever be able to get over it if her aunt Ivy was, indeed, a murderer, and Jen stood by her.
They’d reached the impasse that was destined to destroy them from the very beginning.
But what if she really is guilty of what he said?
“Aunt Ivy, what did you do?” she whispered as she drove out of New York, heading for Pennsylvania. She hadn’t gotten on the road as early as she’d wanted to, having to pick up a few things for the trip. Then she’d had to go across town to the garage where she stored her car.
She didn’t really need a vehicle, living in the city, and she paid an amount equal to the budget of a small country to park it. But for days like today, it was a godsend. Because Trouble, Pennsylvania, wasn’t exactly easy to get to. It most certainly was not on any airline’s radar. She didn’t even think it had a bus station.
She probably could have flown down to Pittsburgh and rented a car, as she’d done once or twice in the past, but something made her choose to make the long drive instead. The hours in silence and solitude seemed appropriate, given her mood. With every mile that passed beneath the wheels of the car, she put more distance between herself and Mike Taylor.
Making him—them—disappear into the past.
“Ha,” she whispered over the sound of the cold air streaming into the car from the air conditioner. “He’s never going to disappear.” Not from her memories. Not from her heart.
“Enough of that,” she reminded herself, trying to think only of what lay ahead. Her confrontation with Ivy wouldn’t be easy, but it had to be done. She needed to formulate a plan on dealing with the woman now, otherwise Ivy would hide, or simply make a button motion over her lips and stay as silent as a corpse.
Like those littering her past.
If Mike had thought his revelation about Ivy possibly having set the fire had taken her by surprise, he’d been dead wrong. Jen had suspected that for years. But his claim that Leo Cantone had been alive when it had been set…well, that she’d never even dreamed possible.
It changed everything. It turned Ivy from a grief-stricken woman trying to salvage what she could out of a horrible tragedy into a cold-blooded murderer.
That was what Jen needed to know. Had her aunt seen her wounded husband lying on the floor and ignored his cries for help? Had she brutally finished the job her lover had started?
“No,” Jen whispered, not wanting to believe it.
But there was no way of knowing, so as the hours went on and she got closer to Trouble, any number of scenarios filled her head. The one she most wanted to believe was that Ivy hadn’t realized Leo was still alive when she’d gotten home that night. She’d burned their house down out of rage and grief and to help Eddie, never knowing she was sealing Leo’s fate.
Please let that be what happened.
When she arrived at the aunts’ houses, Jen did
not park in the driveway. Aunt Ida Mae would hear her car in an instant, and right now, Jen didn’t want to see her. She wanted to confront Ivy alone, knowing that would be the only way she’d ever get her aunt to open up. If Ida Mae was around, she’d plant herself like a solid wall between her sister and her niece. And the secrets would continue, the questions remain unanswered.
Parking down the block, she went to the trunk and removed the one item she knew Ivy would most want to have. The knitting box. Then she walked to the house, approaching on the opposite side of Ida Mae’s, out of sight of the other woman’s windows.
Ivy’s door was not locked. Not wanting Ida Mae to hear her knocking, Jen twisted the knob and stepped inside, immediately assaulted by the aromas of dried flowers, heavy powder and musty age that permeated the place. “Aunt Ivy?” she called as she closed the door behind her. “It’s Jennifer, are you here?”
She didn’t get a response. But hearing a creaking coming from the parlor down the hall, she quietly walked toward it, the old uneven floorboards squeaking beneath her weight.
“Mama?” a soft voice said from inside the shadowy, darkened room. The drapes were drawn, no lights switched on, and the parlor was cast in long, late-afternoon shadows.
“It’s me, Jennifer,” she said as she stepped in the room, allowing her eyes to adjust to the low light. When they had, she made out Aunt Ivy, sitting in her favorite rocker by the cold fireplace, which hadn’t been fit to use in years.
“Jennifer?” Her aunt sounded confused, as if she didn’t recognize the name. “I thought you were Mama come for a visit.”
Crossing over to her, Jennifer knelt by the chair, finally seeing recognition wash over her aunt’s weary-looking face. Knowing the one thing that would wake Ivy up from her daze, Jen said, “I’ve brought back your knitting box.”
Ivy’s eyes went wide as she sat straight up, a brilliant smile making all the confusion and unhappiness fall away. “My box! You brought my precious things?”