On Temporary Terms

by Janice Maynard

  The turnout for today’s funeral service was well over twice that number. Mourners were being seated in the choir loft and in a series of folding metal chairs rapidly produced from some other area of the church.

  Fortunately, the building did not have ornate stained glass windows. The smaller, tinted-glass panes opened outward to catch the afternoon breeze. Even so, the sanctuary was sweltering. Though the obituary had requested donations be made to charity in lieu of flowers, the entire staff of Stewart Properties had pitched in together for an enormous arrangement of bronze and golden-yellow mums, Miss Izzy’s favorite flowers.

  The service was slated to begin in less than thirty minutes. Soon, the funeral home staff would begin courteously but firmly cutting off the line so that Duncan could take his place for the service. Abby did not feel entirely comfortable about the prospect of being seated in the front row beside him.

  Her position at his elbow had elicited stares and hushed, gossipy whispers. She bore the scrutiny with as much grace as she could. Today was about Duncan and his comfort and well-being. Abby’s reputation could handle the fallout.

  When there were only a handful of people still waiting to speak to Isobel’s grandson, she made a mad dash for the restroom. On her way out, she ran into Lara.

  Her friend gave her a hug. “Well,” she said, pulling back to gaze at Abby’s face. “Is it bad form to say you look sexy in that dress?”

  Abby tugged her toward a back hallway. “Ssshhh. Don’t give the biddies more fodder. Talking to poor Duncan is the most excitement they’ve had in months.”

  “Well, at least since his brother, Brody, knocked up the bookstore lady and married her.”

  “Those Stewart boys do know how to make an impression.”

  Abby spoke lightly, but Lara knew her too well to be fooled. Her eyes rounded. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you!”

  “For heaven’s sake, keep your voice down.”

  “I don’t know whether to be proud or jealous. One of you is a fast worker.”

  Abby shrugged with a wry smile. “I may have taken cheering him up a little too far.”

  “Abby Hartmann. You’re a bad girl. Who knew? I don’t know what to say.”

  “Very funny. It just happened. Neither of us planned it.”

  Lara sobered. “He’s not going to stay now, is he? Now that Isobel is dead?”

  “Probably not.” Abby made herself say the words out loud. “I’ve offered to help him tackle cleaning out the house...or at least the preparations before a team of professionals comes in.”

  “Why?”

  Lara’s blunt question exposed the weaknesses in Abby’s self-destructive rationalizations. “I feel sorry for him,” she muttered.

  “The man is a millionaire several times over. I’m pretty sure he can hire whoever he needs.”

  “That’s cold even for you, Lara. Show some compassion. His grandmother just died.”

  “And yet he’s already coaxed you into his bed.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Abby stopped, suddenly unwilling to justify her behavior. She didn’t want to talk about Duncan’s grief on the night they found Izzy. What had happened between Duncan and Abby was natural and organic. She wouldn’t let that memory be sullied by Lara’s understandable cynicism. “I have to go,” she said. “It’s time for the service.”

  Lara hugged her again, her expression contrite. “You’re a good person. I hope Duncan knows how lucky he is to have you.”

  * * *

  Lara’s words played again and again in Abby’s head during the lengthy service. She didn’t think Duncan meant for it to be so long, but he had made the choice to open up the eulogy time for anyone who wanted to say a few words about Isobel. There were many who seized the opportunity to speak about a woman who had done so much and left such a lasting impression.

  At last, after a soloist sang one more song, Duncan stepped forward to conclude the remarks.

  He cleared his throat. “My grandparents were part of a generation who believed in hard work and family. They raised my father to be self-reliant, and when Brody and I came along, they extended those lessons to us, as well. This town and this community meant the world to them. Candlewick will always be part of the Stewart legacy. Thank you for coming here today. On behalf of all my family, I appreciate the honor you have shown my grandmother.”

  And then it was over.

  The crowd filed out one cluster at a time. After the minister spoke to Duncan briefly, there were a few more well-wishers waiting for his attention.

  Abby slipped away to stand beside the casket. “Godspeed, Miss Izzy,” she whispered. “He did well, didn’t he?” Duncan’s words had left no room for misinterpretation. He was saying thank you and goodbye. When he talked about Candlewick always being part of the Stewart legacy, there had been a note of finality in his voice.

  Duncan might be conflicted about his inheritance, but it was painfully clear to Abby that his presence in North Carolina was brief, at best.

  When the crowd finally dispersed, Duncan took Abby’s hand and gripped it tightly. They walked out the back of the church to the small cemetery where Isobel’s spot beside her husband had been prepared. Duncan stood straight and tall, but she could read the strain on his face.

  The minister read a scripture and said a prayer. Abby and Duncan put two flowers on the casket. Then the little woman was lowered to her final resting place.

  Duncan sighed deeply and put an arm around Abby’s waist. “Was it okay?” he asked, his expression sober.

  “It was perfect.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  The minister shook Duncan’s hand. “The ladies of the church want to prepare a meal for you this coming Tuesday. They weren’t sure of your plans, so they’ve asked me to make sure that’s a convenient time.”

  “Of course. Please tell them thank you. I appreciate their kindness.”

  “I’ll drop it by your house around noon.”

  When the older man disappeared, Duncan rotated his neck. “I’m exhausted,” he muttered.

  “Are you sure you still want to go to Asheville?”

  “I don’t want to go alone,” he said.

  Abby straightened his bow tie for an excuse to touch him. “I’ll go with you. You knew I would.”

  “On the contrary,” he said. “I’m not sure of anything about you, Abby. But I’m willing to learn.”

  * * *

  Duncan was so tired his eyeballs hurt. The last hours had been an endurance test. His face hurt from smiling and pretending to be okay, whatever that meant. Deeper still was the unexpectedly sharp sting of grief. Seeing the raw earth accept his grandmother’s casket had shaken him.

  Maybe taking Abby to a luxurious hotel for an overnight getaway was a bloody stupid idea, but he clung to it like a life raft. If he could get her there and get her naked and in his arms, he might be able to sleep tonight.

  They arrived at the Gloucester Park Inn at six. The stately four-story building was a local landmark. He barely remembered the drive. Abby had been quiet beside him, and he had concentrated on the directions from his phone. He handed the valet his keys and went to check in.

  When he returned, Abby stood beside their two small suitcases. “I told the bellman we didn’t need help,” she said. “I didn’t think you would mind.”

  “Of course not.” He was running on adrenaline, and his nerves were jumpy. Having a third person around, even momentarily, would not help the situation. Abby’s mood was impossible to read. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said.

  Their room, actually a suite, was on the top floor of the hotel. Duncan had paid extra for a view of the mountains and a welcome basket of champagne and cheese and strawberries.

  Abby kicked off her heels immediately and went to the bay window. “This is gorgeous,” she said. She looked over her s
houlder at him and smiled. “I’ve always heard about this place.”

  He joined her and slid his arms around her from behind. “I like this western part of North Carolina. It reminds me a little bit of home.”

  “Except no water.”

  “Aye. That’s true.” He nuzzled her ear. “Did you bring the fancy dress?”

  “I did.”

  “Then go change and we’ll open that champagne. Our dinner reservations are at seven, so we don’t have too much time to spare.”

  “I’m not high maintenance,” Abby said, slipping out of his embrace. “It won’t take me long.”

  The beautifully decorated suite was spacious. In addition to the sitting room where they had first entered that included multiple sofas and love seats, there was an enormous bedroom and bathroom. Perhaps in deference to family groups who might book the facilities, there was a smaller nook with a full bath in one corner of the living area.

  Duncan could hear the shower running in the other room, so he knew Abby was freshening up. Suddenly, that sounded like a fantastic idea. He took his suitcase into the miniature bathroom and followed her example.

  He’d brought an entire change of clothes for tonight. Not only was he hot and rumpled, but he wanted to symbolically shed his funeral attire. Life was made up of beginnings and endings. Today had been one.

  Was tonight a beginning? Or simply another ending?

  The thought tormented him, so he pushed it away.

  When Abby walked out of the bedroom at twenty ’til seven, she took his breath away. Her gorgeous hair fluffed out in a sexy halo around her head. Her makeup was more dramatic than usual, smoky eyes and pouty lips.

  But it was the dress that made his mouth dry and his heart pound. Her curvaceous body was showcased in fire-engine red sequins that caught the light when she walked. Tiny spaghetti straps bared white shoulders.

  The bodice plunged dramatically, making it clear that his pragmatic Abby had dispensed with a bra. Her curvy hips begged for a man’s touch.

  “My God,” he said reverently. “You look like a film star.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “And you smell yummy.”

  “I showered, too. We should have done it together and saved water.”

  “Not a chance, Duncan. I know where that would have ended up. You promised me dinner and dancing.”

  He grinned at her, feeling some of the weight in his chest ease. “Aye, I did.” He reached for the champagne and popped the cork. Carefully, he filled two flutes and handed one to Abby. “A toast tonight. To Isobel Stewart, my stubborn, feisty grandmother. May she and her Geoffrey be together always.”

  Abby touched her glass to his with a wistful smile. “A lovely thought.” She took a sip of the bubbly and sneezed.

  Duncan laughed and drained his glass. “That’s damned fine champagne.”

  While he stared, Abby sipped hers slowly. “Don’t,” she said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t look at me like you’re the big bad wolf and I’m dinner.”

  “I can’t help it,” he said. It was the truth. “I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

  She set her empty glass aside and tugged at the bodice. “I think I’ve gained a couple of pounds since the last time I wore this. I don’t remember it being quite so...”

  “Glorious? Incandescent? Ravishing?”

  Her expression was an odd mixture of pleasure and disbelief. “I thought it was Irish men who kissed the blarney stone.”

  “If I were going to stick around for any length of time, I’d prove to you how beautiful you are.”

  A heartbeat passed. Then two. “If you were going to stick around, I might let you.”

  Duncan felt a shift between them, a bittersweet acknowledgment that they had come close to having something special. The prospect of leaving Abby was physically painful. It was a reality he would have to address, but not tonight, not now.

  “Let’s head downstairs,” he said gruffly.

  The dining room of the Gloucester Park Inn was black-tie only. Its centerpiece was an enormous antique chandelier that cast light in a million rainbows across the elegant space. Beneath was a highly polished dance floor. Dinner tables, staggered several deep, ran around all four sides of the rectangular room. French doors opened out onto a terraced patio for use when weather permitted.

  Duncan had requested a corner table that afforded a modicum of privacy.

  Abby’s obvious enthusiasm pleased him. “I see now what all the hype was about,” she said. “No wonder couples save their pennies for a night out.”

  “Indeed.” The crowd was eclectic, but no children in sight.

  The waiter arrived and handed them menus. Abby studied hers with charming seriousness. “I believe I’ll have the salmon and asparagus,” she said.

  Duncan decided to try the prime Angus steak. When they had ordered, he held out his hand, no longer willing to wait. “Let’s dance.”

  Abby’s beaming smile warmed him to his toes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He led her out onto the dance floor, ruefully conscious that his height and hers did not make for perfect partners. Nevertheless, he folded her into his arms, smiling when her cheek rested over his heart. She had worn sexy shoes with stiletto heels that gave her an additional three inches.

  Although dancing was not Duncan’s usual recreation, he knew enough to pilot his partner around the dance floor. A six-piece orchestra played beautiful evocative melodies. He closed off the memories of the past week and concentrated on Abby. The music soothed him.

  He inhaled her delicate scent. In his embrace, she felt soft and warm and intensely feminine. It was impossible to imagine walking away from this unexpected, visceral connection. And yet what did he really know about her? The woman scarcely talked about herself at all. Was she simply reserved or intentionally secretive?

  If Duncan remained in Candlewick, there might be a chance for the two of them, but every time he contemplated staying, his stomach tightened with panic.

  Taking Abby to Scotland was no better plan. She had worked hard to get where she was in her career. Starting over in Skye would be virtually impossible.

  He splayed his fingers over her bare back, shuddering inwardly as he imagined having her naked again. His body responded predictably. Since he still had to make it through dinner, he reached desperately for something to distract himself. “Tell me about your family,” he said. “You know everything about me.”

  Abby stiffened in his embrace. Noticeably. He felt the tension in her body. It made no sense. “Abby?” he prodded.

  Her fingers were white-knuckled at the breast pocket of his jacket. “Not much to tell,” she said. The words were nonchalant, her tone anything but.

  “Your mother must have been a beautiful woman. I’m assuming you look like her?”

  She made a sound in her throat that might have been agreement or denial. “Sometimes I think I have a snippet of a memory, but it might be my imagination. I have a few photographs. She was a teacher before I was born.”

  “How did she die?”

  “Her appendix ruptured. She let it go too long before she went to the doctor. The infection caused sepsis.”

  He stroked her hair. “It’s not right for a bairn to grow up without her mum. I’m sorry you lost yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You haven’t said much about your father.”

  “And I won’t.” The words were sharp.

  There was a story there, and not a pleasant one, it seemed. “I won’t force it out of you. But if you and he don’t get along, why have you stayed here? ’Tis a lovely town, for sure. Still, there would have been more opportunities in a bigger city. You’re smart and ambitious. What keeps you in Candlewick?”

  Abby loo
ked up at him, her gray eyes dark with mysteries he couldn’t fathom. “My mother is buried here. I often go to her grave and talk to her about my life. It’s not morbid, I swear.” Her lopsided smile was self-deprecating. “It makes me happy to think she might be proud of me.”

  “I’d say that’s a fair bet. Ye’ve done well for yourself, Abby Hartmann.”

  It was true. For a young woman with little parental support as far as he could tell, Abby had accomplished a lot in her short life. He had witnessed her devotion to her boss’s cause. If she was as doggedly determined in every arena of her life, Abby might end up running the law firm one day.

  Why did the notion bother him so much? He should be happy for her.

  The song ended and Abby stepped away from him, smoothing her hair. “Our food is here,” she said. “I’m starving. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  The easy communication between them had been shattered. Duncan marked it to the moment he asked about her father. Abby was keeping something from him. Perhaps it wasn’t his business, but her reticence brought more questions than answers.

  Twelve

  Duncan’s innocent questions about her family had erased most of Abby’s pleasure in the evening. If theirs was a serious relationship, she would perhaps be obliged to share all the sordid details of her family tree. But this fling, or whatever it was, had temporary written all over it. She had no interest in telling Duncan all her secrets.

  It was bad enough that he had almost met her father. The incident at her house had embarrassed her deeply and reminded her of all the reasons why she should watch her step around Duncan. He was a client of the law firm that had taken a chance on her, given her a job, kept her from starving in the streets. She was risking her professional integrity by socializing with someone whose business interests were inextricably intertwined with her livelihood. Candlewick was a small town. If Abby made a misstep in her personal life that had implications for her career, everyone would know.

  When their food arrived, they ate mostly in silence. The meal was astonishingly good. Abby was hungry. Or at least she had been earlier. Now, the knot in her stomach made it difficult to eat more than a portion of her beautifully prepared food.