His Best Friend's Wife

by Lee McKenzie

  “We did.” Emily winked at Libby and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “We were on fire, Mrs. Potter.”

  Thank you, Libby mouthed. “That’s great, Mom. Congratulations.”

  “I need to get going.” Emily hugged her dad one more time. “Jack should be home from the station by now. I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow night. Hope to see you, too, Libby.”

  After she left, Libby started a pot of coffee. “How are you doing, Mom? Would you like to sit here with me and Thomas, or would you rather have a rest?”

  “I think I should put my feet up.”

  “Okay, then. Come with me and I’ll help you get settled in your room.” She helped her mother to her feet and rolled her walker into position.

  Thomas was watching the two of them, she noticed. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Potter,” he said.

  “Good to see you, too, Thomas.

  “That young man has good manners,” her mother said on her way out of the kitchen. “Good-looking, too.”

  Feeling a little like the teenager she wished she had been, Libby glanced over her shoulder and laughed. There was no missing Thomas’s grin.

  After she settled her mother on the bed and covered her with an afghan, she pulled the roller blind down and left the door ajar as she left the room.

  “Be sure to give that handsome young man a slice of my red velvet cake.”

  “I will, Mom. Have a good rest.” She was still chuckling when she returned to the kitchen. Thomas was clearing the table.

  “I can do that,” she said a little quickly.

  He arched his eyebrows in a way that silently said, Seriously? Do you seriously think I can’t load a few dishes in the dishwasher?

  “No need to get on your high horse. You’re a guest, which means there’s no need to do dishes.”

  “Just hoping to get a slice of cake sooner rather than later.”

  “Coming right up.” She set mugs and plates, forks and napkins on the table and took the cake saver out of the fridge.

  “How’s your mom doing?”

  She filled their coffee mugs. “She’s tired but I can tell she had a good day. I’m so grateful to Emily for spending time with her.”

  “Me, too, because it meant I got to spend time with you.”

  Libby felt herself blush. What she loved—yes, loved—about this man was his sincerity. Thomas was charming, of course, but it wasn’t an act. She served two slices of cake, a generous one for him and a much smaller one for herself, sat and watched him savor his first bite.

  “So, you were going to tell me about Rose.”

  “Right. Before I do, I should back up a little. Have I told you about my old army buddy, Nate Benson? We were in the same unit during the Gulf War.”

  “No, you haven’t mentioned him. Does he live around here?”

  “Unfortunately, no. He has a ranch in Texas. Three kids, like me, except his are boys.”

  “Have the two of you stayed in touch?”

  “We have. At first it was Christmas cards and the occasional letter or phone call. Now it’s easier to keep in touch with email.”

  “What about his family?”

  “Interesting coincidence. His three sons are roughly the same age as my girls. When we were over there, swapping stories about our families and our kids kept us sane. Any time one of us would get a letter from home—notes from his kids, artwork, photos, that kind of thing—”

  “That’s so...” Libby dabbed the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “I’m sorry. It’s very touching.”

  “Nate received a lot more of those packages than I did. My wife, Scarlett, wasn’t much of a letter writer and the girls were too little to do it on their own. At the time my parents were still alive. My mother wrote as often as she could. She tried to get the girls involved and sent photos.

  “Those mail deliveries were the highlight of our days, our weeks. News from home, getting to see how the kids were growing and changing, those things kept us going.”

  “Did you have any free time to write back?”

  “I always made a point of it. So did Nate. Those letters gave us an opportunity to tell our families how much we missed them, how much we loved them.”

  Loved them. Which included the wife. That stung a little, but she put aside the envy.

  “Did you tell them what it was like over there?” Everything she remembered about that war sounded terrible. Not exactly the sorts of things men wanted to share with their families, especially not their kids.

  “Just day-to-day stuff. The weather, who was the best poker player. Nothing...real. It would have been too hard to write about.”

  “But they were probably watching on TV.”

  He was shaking his head. “Well, that’s the thing. None of the stuff on TV was really real. The insufferable heat, the never-ending sand, the gut-wrenching fear you feel after you’ve finally drifted off to sleep, only to be ripped out of it again when a shell lands less than ten yards away.”

  She couldn’t begin to imagine how terrible it had been. But if he had been her husband, she would have wanted to know.

  “The scariest part is how fast all of it becomes normal. Even the casualties.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, found him watching her when she opened them, studying her intently.

  “I’m sorry. I hadn’t planned to go there.”

  “It’s okay.” Knowing about his past helped her to understand and appreciate the man he was now. “You were telling me about Nate and the letters.”

  “Right. So I mostly received mail from my mother, and she was careful to leave out a lot of the details about Scarlett—didn’t want me worrying about the girls—so I didn’t find out until I was airlifted stateside and eventually discharged from the convalescent hospital, and the army.

  “I came home to Riverton and found a very different woman from the one I had married.”

  “I’m so sorry. Had she been...?” Unable to bring herself to say the word out loud, she simply reached for his hand.

  “Unfaithful? Not that I know of. It was worse. She’d become addicted to prescription drugs.”

  “Oh!” The possibility had never occurred to her.

  “She couldn’t stand Riverton, hated being on the farm even more, and then I rolled in. That was the deal breaker.”

  “And so...what? She left?”

  Thomas nodded. Libby had felt betrayed and deeply angry when her husband told her he was leaving, and who he was leaving her for. But their marriage had been little more than a formality for years. There were no children, no extenuating circumstances.

  “Did she go to rehab?”

  “Not exactly. She went to Chicago.”

  As hard it was to believe, the woman had chosen drugs over this man, her husband. She had also done something right, though. She had left her daughters with him.

  “Did you hear from her?”

  “Not often.”

  “And the girls?”

  “Never.”

  Her eyes went watery again and she swiped at them with her napkin. As difficult as those years must have been for Annie, Emily and CJ growing up, Libby believed their mother had done them a huge favor.

  “Tell me about Rose.”

  “Scarlett never told me about her, but at some point she must have told Rose about us. Last summer, after Scarlett was...after she passed away...”

  Libby had heard the news stories about the murder of three women in Chicago and had been shocked to learn one of them was Thomas’s ex-wife. She waited for him to compose himself and continue.

  “Rose came to Riverton and checked into the bed-and-breakfast.”

  “That must have been a shock.”

  “She didn’t tell us who she was. I thin
k she wanted to check us out, and by us I mean her sisters. Annie took the girl under her wing even before she knew who Rose was. Emily’s the one who put two and two together and figured out Rose was Scarlett’s daughter. Annie welcomed her into the fold right away, helped her find a job and an apartment, but Emily and CJ still haven’t warmed up to her.”

  “And you?”

  It took him a moment to respond. “I’m not sure. She had a tough life, in and out of foster homes. I see a lot of her mother in her, some of the good and, unfortunately, some of the not-so-good things.”

  “Drugs?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure, but she definitely has issues with alcohol.”

  Libby felt a shiver pass through her. “And yet Annie left Isaac with her today?”

  “When Annie looks at her, I’m not sure she sees what everyone else sees. She knows Rose has issues, but she believes if she gives her the benefit of the doubt, Rose will live up to her expectations.”

  “That is often true with children, but I’m not sure it works the same way with adults. Given everything Rose has been through, she might need to see a counselor. Maybe an addictions counselor.”

  “You’re probably right. She is my daughters’ sister but she isn’t my daughter, so I’ve been trying to stay out of it.”

  Libby finished her coffee and sighed as she set the mug on the table. She felt as though she’d been dragged through an emotional ringer. Her slice of cake was untouched, but she noticed Thomas had polished his off while they’d talked.

  “More coffee?” she asked.

  “Love some.”

  After she refilled both mugs, Thomas reached for her hand before she sat.

  “Is your mother likely to stay in her room for a bit?”

  “I’m sure she’s asleep.”

  “Good. I’ve been looking forward to some alone time with you.” With that, he tugged on her hand until she was sitting on his lap.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “What did you have in mind?”

  “No more talking. I say we put the past behind us and explore the future. Our very...”

  He kissed her.

  “...immediate...”

  Another kiss.

  “...future.”

  With one hand on his shoulder and the other lost in his hair, she gave herself to the kiss. This was one of those moments when talking was highly overrated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE GALLERY TOUR had exceeded Paul’s expectations tenfold. He had never seen Annie so animated, so intent on absorbing everything she saw. The impromptu trip to the bookstore had been another highlight. After asking for directions to the photography section, she had poured over books on basic photography, finally settling on two—a six-hundred-page encyclopedic volume and a beautifully illustrated book on basic digital photography.

  The gallery and bookstore visits had taken longer than expected, which meant they had missed the reservation he’d made at a bistro near Lake Calhoun. Another time, he’d decided, and instead they had settled for deli sandwiches and bottled water at a place around the corner from the bookstore. The deli was crammed with tiny tables and abuzz with the conversations of patrons, and Paul couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be. Annie—blue eyes lit with enthusiasm, looking happier than he had seen her in a long time—took his breath away.

  “Thank you for convincing me to spend the day with you,” she said. “I hadn’t realized how much I needed time away. Thank you for taking me to the gallery and bookstore, for the photograph and the books. It feels like Christmas.”

  He didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself, but he hoped by Christmastime their relationship would be solid enough for them to move from more than friends to something more like “maybe we’ll get married someday.” There was no rushing her, though. He knew that. He also knew she was sensitive to what other people thought, that it had been less than a year since Eric had passed away, that getting involved with another man so soon might be perceived by some as an impropriety.

  So no, Paul did not intend to propose right away. It was far too soon. And if there was one thing he knew about Annie, she and the farmhouse were a package deal. Nonnegotiable. If he wanted to be with her, and if he dared to hope she would feel the same way some day, then he had to accept that.

  For now he had his own obligations to fulfill. His father was still doing well at home, and while he had never expected to feel this way, this wasn’t the time to consider moving him into long-term nursing care. So no, Paul wasn’t about to propose anytime soon.

  That said, he did want to finally be able to say “I love you” without scaring her off. And maybe even have her say it back. The thought made him smile, and then he felt himself grinning. A goofy grin, no doubt, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “What’s so funny?” Annie asked, peeling back the paper wrapper around her turkey-bacon club. “Me, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning?”

  Her knee bumped his and she didn’t move it away. Paul sobered.

  “Trust me. I’m not laughing at you. I like seeing you happy, and you look happy today.”

  He loved the way her self-consciousness made her nose turn pink. “I am happy,” she said. “You have no idea how grateful I am that Emily gave me her old camera, and that you brought me into the city to see the exhibit at the gallery. I wish I had thought to bring the camera with me. I’d be taking pictures of everything right now.”

  He glanced around the busy deli. “What would you photograph in here?”

  “See those jars of pickled vegetables on the shelf by the window? The way the light filters through them? They remind me of stained glass windows. I would definitely take a picture of those.”

  He never would have drawn the parallel but now that she had, he could appreciate the likeness.

  “And check out that huge old brass-and-copper espresso maker with the eagle ornament perched on its top.”

  The vintage machine was still in operation and held a place of honor on the counter. Paul had noticed it as soon as they’d walked into the restaurant.

  “It sort of reminds me of an altar.”

  Huh. She was right.

  “So we’re eating in a place with an altar and a stained glass window. What does that say about us?”

  She shrugged. “We have an appreciation for good food.” He could practically see the wheels turning. “Do you know what I’m thinking?” she asked.

  “You think this would make an interesting post for Emily’s blog,” he suggested.

  Her eyes flashed. “Exactly. Now I’m really disappointed I didn’t bring my camera.”

  “Can’t you take photos with your phone?”

  “Oh. Of course I can. I always forget about my phone.”

  She pulled it out of her bag and checked for messages before she clicked on the camera app. She took a few seconds to frame the shot of the jars of pickled vegetables and then turned slightly in her chair to capture the massive espresso machine. She took several other shots before she turned back to him with a smile.

  “That’s it?” he asked.

  “One more.”

  Before he understood what was happening, she snapped one of him.

  “There. Now I’m done.”

  Okay. Interesting. “Is that for the blog?” He hated to ask but he had to know.

  “No. Emily blogs about people. My posts are about other things, mostly food and stuff around the house.”

  “Except the one about the wedding.”

  “You read it?”

  “
Wouldn’t have missed it.”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t know who took the photograph of us dancing, but I decided to use it since neither of us was completely recognizable in it.”

  “I didn’t mind at all.” Quite the opposite. He had been flattered. Who wouldn’t be? They looked incredibly good together. He was encouraged by her willingness to use a picture, publicly, that so clearly depicted them as a couple. And to the people who mattered, they were completely recognizable.

  Annie was checking messages again.

  “Anything from Rose?” he asked.

  Without looking up from the screen, Annie shook her head.

  That should be a relief. It was a relief. From the time they had left the house, Annie hadn’t said anything about the girl and he hadn’t dared broach the subject. Yes, he was concerned about Annie’s blind trust in her half sister. However, there was a fine line between that and breach of privacy, and it was a line he would never—could never—let himself cross.

  “There’s a text from Emily, though.” She smiled and angled her phone so he could read it.

  Just left Mrs. Potter’s place. Dad’s there with Libby. Soooo cute together. ♥

  The message made him smile, too. All three Finnegan sisters were devoted to their father and wanted to see him happy. He loved that about this family. He was also secretly grateful to the two younger sisters and their dad for not only championing him, but also providing opportunities for him to be alone with Annie. Today had been the exception—not that he could fault them for having lives of their own.

  She slipped her phone into her bag, ate the last bite of her sandwich and dropped the crumpled paper wrapper into the plastic basket.

  “I’ve had a wonderful time, Paul. Thank you again.”

  “I hope we can do it again.” Soon.

  “Me, too.”

  He stood and eased himself through the narrow space between their table and the one next to them, then helped her with her jacket. She smiled up at him and he was on the verge of kissing her when it seemed something over his shoulder caught her attention.