by Irene Hannon
Horrified.
There, in bold type, the Observer had offered the latest morsel in what had fast gone from friendly rivalry to a seeming vendetta against the Hamilton family: Media Mogul’s Love Child?
Sorry now that she hadn’t taken Tim’s advice, Amy sank onto a stool at the island in her kitchen as she scanned the insinuation-laden lead item in the column, feeling sicker by the minute. “Has Mom seen this yet?”
“I hope not. I’m on my way there now. I’m calling from my cell. See if you can catch Heather before she leaves for the office. I’ll track down Chris. I think we need to meet at the house and talk with Mom about how to handle this.”
“Okay. We’ll see you there.”
Just as Amy was heading out the door, an emergency phone call from the office delayed her several minutes. When she finally pulled up in front of the Hamilton home half an hour later, Chris’s patrol car, Heather’s deep blue Saab and Tim’s silver BMW were already spaced along the circular driveway. Double-parking next to Tim’s car, she took the front steps two at a time and pushed open the door. A subdued murmur of voices from the back parlor guided her footsteps, and seconds later she stepped into the casual room where the family had always relaxed together.
Her mother was perched on the edge of a comfortable upholstered chair, and one look at her pinched face heightened Amy’s fear that the Observer’s latest installment might do her in. Conversation stopped as she crossed the room and embraced the older woman in a tight hug. When she finally released her mother and backed up, Nora managed to dredge up a smile and give her oldest daughter’s arm a reassuring squeeze.
“Everything will be fine,” she said, directing her comment first to Amy, then turning to encompass her other children when she continued. “As I already told the rest of you, I have absolutely no doubt that your father has been true to me since the day we met. This latest…scoop…from the Observer is not only shoddy journalism, it’s a bunch of rubbish.”
“Of course it is.” As Tim set down his cup of coffee, Amy noticed that his hand wasn’t quite steady. Sometimes she forgot that his feelings ran as deep as Heather’s. He just did a better job masking them under a take-charge, let’s-get-down-to-business attitude. “The question is, what do we do?”
“Ignore it,” Chris advised. “If we do anything to acknowledge the story, it will just prolong its life.”
“Chris is right,” Amy agreed.
“What about Dad?” Heather interjected. “Should we tell him?”
“No.” Tim’s tone was decisive.
“That backfired the last time we tried to keep something from him. I hated the way he found out about Jeremy’s leaving town,” Nora reminded them.
“He’s in a private room at the hospital, pretty much in isolation,” Tim countered. “The staff can be warned to keep quiet about this, and we’re already screening visitors. I don’t think he needs the added worry.” He shot Amy a look, as if daring her to disagree with his next comment. “Despite Strickland’s reassurance that stress didn’t make Dad more susceptible to this fungal infection, I, for one, see no reason to put that theory to a further test.”
Amy surprised him by agreeing. “I don’t want to take any chances, either. I vote that we keep this under wraps until we can get to the bottom of it. I think we should do some digging and see if we can put a name on the ‘reliable source’ that the Observer has been quoting in its stories.”
“There’s nothing we can do from a legal standpoint to force them to reveal their sources,” Chris cautioned his family.
“Maybe not, but we can keep our collective ears to the ground, can’t we?” Heather planted her hands on her hips, worry and anger vying for prominence on her face. “Somebody is trying to make our lives miserable, and I’d like to know who.”
“Trying?” Tim raised an eyebrow at his sister.
“We have had more placid times,” Nora conceded with a sigh. “But I have great faith that if we put our trust in God, He’ll see us through this storm. And we’ll emerge the stronger for it.”
Instead of responding, Tim turned away to reach for his coffee. At least the rest of the siblings gathered in this room today could take some comfort in their faith, Amy reflected. Without that rock to cling to, these past few months would have been difficult to bear. Sometimes she wondered how Tim managed. And she prayed that he wouldn’t always have to face troubled times alone, that someday he, too, would find his way to the Lord.
“I’ll talk to the staff at the hospital right away about keeping this latest development quiet,” Nora continued. “I don’t think we’ll have any problem. When your father is stronger, I’ll share it with him. But I do agree that for right now, he doesn’t need that kind of anxiety. It may not hurt his recovery, but I’m sure it wouldn’t help, either.”
Taking a deep breath, Nora rose. When she spoke, there was a suspicious gleam of moisture in her eyes. “I can’t thank you all enough for taking time out of your busy days to come out here this morning. I don’t know what I would have done throughout this ordeal if it wasn’t for my wonderful children. You’ve been such a blessing to me.”
Heather stepped forward and enfolded her mother in a warm embrace. “There’s nowhere else we could be.” Her own voice was tearful.
“I know that, dear. And I also know deep in my heart that Jeremy and Melissa are with us in spirit, as well. And I look forward to the day when we’re all back together again.”
As Amy said her own goodbyes and headed out to her car, she couldn’t help but admire her mother’s perennial optimism. No matter how bad things got, no matter how many new gauntlets were flung at her feet, she picked them up and just kept going. Sustained by her faith, strengthened by the love of her family, guided by hope, she had never stopped believing in happy endings. Aided in part, no doubt, by the fact that she’d spent the past thirty-five years married to the man of her dreams. A true romance if ever there had been one.
Amy wished she had her mother’s fortitude and positive attitude. Although she’d never been a quitter, recent events had conspired to discourage her. And her one romance had gone sour years before when Bryan walked away. Yes, he was back. And yes, last Thursday night after their impromptu pizza dinner she’d glimpsed, for a brief instant, a glimmer of attraction that had made her believe his feelings for her might be deepening. But it had come and gone so fast that she wondered now if it had simply been wishful thinking on her part. Or perhaps he’d just been remembering happier times and succumbed to a moment of nostalgia.
It would be wonderful to recapture the closeness they had once shared. Seeing him again had rekindled all the feelings she’d long ago buried deep in the recesses of her heart. As she’d watched him with his son, learned of his devotion to his wife, grown to admire his sense of duty, she’d realized that the boy she’d once loved had become a man, with a deep maturity honed from hardship and loss and sacrifice. Not only had her love flamed to life again, it had grown and blossomed, like a seedling that sends down deep, anchoring roots to nourish it through adversity.
Now wasn’t the time to think about romance, of course. Not with all of the other problems facing the family. But one of these days, if her mother’s prediction came true and all of the issues were resolved, maybe then Amy would allow herself to once more believe in happy endings. Just as Nora did.
Chapter Twelve
The breakfast crowd was out in full force, and Bryan hesitated in the doorway as he surveyed the packed dining area at Betty’s Bakeshoppe. There didn’t seem to be a vacant table in the place. He should have made himself some oatmeal when he fixed Dylan’s breakfast, as was his typical routine. Except there hadn’t been time. Not after his son suddenly remembered that it was his turn to bring treats for the class, vaulting their usual laid-back start to the day into high gear. Bryan had thrown together a lunch for Dylan, rushed him through breakfast and hustled him out so they could swing by the bakery before heading for school.
At the enticing aromas w
afting his way from the kitchen, Bryan’s stomach rumbled. He supposed he could just order takeout, but it would have been nice to sit for a few minutes and get a second wind before jumping into the hectic office routine.
“Amy’s over there, if you’re looking for an empty seat,” Betty offered as she passed by, balancing a loaded tray. She gestured toward a far corner with her free hand.
Taking another look, he spotted her. It was no wonder he’d missed her on his first scan. She was tucked into one of the tiny booths for two in a shadowy corner, her elbow on the table, her head propped in her hand. And from her morose expression, Bryan suspected she wasn’t in the mood for company. Had something else happened? he wondered. Not that it was any of his business, of course. But the uncharacteristic droop of her shoulders tugged at his heart, and he knew he couldn’t just walk away to let her deal with her latest problem alone. He’d think about why later.
By the time he reached her side, she’d lifted her coffee cup and was staring into the murky depths. She didn’t even notice him until he was standing right beside her, and when she looked up her expression went from glum to surprised to curious in a heartbeat.
“Hi.” Bryan tried to smile, not sure of his welcome after their near-kiss the week before. “The place is full, so Betty suggested I claim the empty seat at your table.”
After giving the room a quick glance, she inclined her head toward the opposite side of the tiny booth. “Help yourself.”
As he slid onto the seat, she reached for the copy of the Observer that lay in his place.
“Supporting the competition?” he teased, hoping to elicit a smile.
Instead, the tense line of her face tightened. She was tempted to tell him what she’d like to do to the competition, but a lady didn’t use language like that. Nor did a Christian. For a second she hesitated, loath to share the latest sordid installment in the Hamilton family saga with him, but he’d find out soon enough anyway. In silence, she unfolded the paper to the gossip column and pushed it in front of him.
He continued to look into her troubled eyes for a second before shifting his focus to the headline. A shock wave rippled through him as the words sank in, and he scanned the first few lines of the story. A “reliable source” had supplied much of the information for the piece, which was filled with innuendo. Though Wallace Hamilton was never mentioned by name, it was clear that the headline referred to him. No wonder Amy was upset.
When he looked up, Amy spoke before he could say a word. “It’s all garbage.”
“Well now, I sure hope that’s not a comment about the fine food at the Bakeshoppe.” Betty’s smile, as she withdrew her order pad, communicated just how preposterous such a notion could be. “Bryan, I know you want coffee. Black. What else can I offer you this…”
Her voice trailed off and, despite Amy’s distraction, Betty’s abrupt pause caught her attention—and Bryan’s. They both looked up to find her staring at the headline in the Observer, an odd expression on her face. Her smile had faded, and her skin had taken on a gray cast.
“Betty? Are you okay?” Amy half rose and reached out a hand to the owner.
With obvious effort, Betty smiled. At least her lips turned up. But Amy could see no humor in her expression. “Yes. I’m fine. I just remembered something I was supposed to handle first thing this morning. Let me send Wendy out to take your order.”
Before Amy or Bryan could question her further, Betty turned on her heel and hurried toward the kitchen.
“What’s with her?” Bryan stared after her, puzzled.
“I have no idea.” Amy looked back down at the paper. “Maybe she just felt awkward. She’s been a friend of the family for years, and there’s no comfortable way to discuss a situation like this.”
Once more, Bryan examined the story. “Any idea who the ‘reliable source’ is?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. We all met with Mom this morning. We agreed that responding in any way would just give the story a higher profile. We’re going to ignore it…and keep our ears to the ground in the hopes that we can figure out who’s supplying the Observer with this supposedly reliable information.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
Just then Wendy, Betty’s youngest daughter, came up beside their table. Amy turned to her in concern. “Is your mom all right?”
“Yes. She’s just been feeling a little under the weather lately. What can I get for you today?”
As Wendy spoke, she looked everywhere but at Amy. Also odd. But Amy was up to her ears in odd things right now. She couldn’t handle even one more.
After they gave their order, Bryan turned his full attention to Amy. Unlike Wendy, he had no problem looking directly at her. And considering the probing, appraising look in his eyes, Amy suddenly decided she preferred Wendy’s evasive maneuvers.
“I’m sorry about this.” He tapped the paper with his finger.
“Thanks. Just when I think things can’t get any worse, wham…something else comes along to knock us down.”
“Your family has had its share of bad breaks in the past few months, that’s for sure.”
“Enough to last a lifetime.”
“How’s your mom holding up?”
“She’s a rock. She has this amazing optimism, and she keeps insisting that everything will turn out fine. We’re all trying to follow her example and stay positive.”
“Her oldest daughter seems to be doing a good job of that.”
Although his comment warmed her, Amy knew better. “I wish that was true. I try to keep an upbeat attitude in public, but at home, when I’m alone…it’s hard to maintain.”
“You seemed okay Thursday night.” His voice took on a deeper, more intimate tone.
“I wasn’t alone Thursday night.”
An ember flared to life in his eyes for a brief instant, but long enough to send a surge of warmth to her cheeks. “I had a good time.”
“So did I.” Her voice came out as a mere whisper.
He looked down at her hands, which were gripped around her coffee mug. For a second, she thought he was going to reach over and enfold them in his strong, capable fingers. Wanted him to, in fact. As she held her breath, the boisterous sounds of the Bakeshoppe receded, and the frantic beat of her own heart filled her ears. She loosened her hold on the mug, waiting, watching. Bryan’s eyes had a cautious, testing-the-waters kind of look, and she sensed that something had changed in their relationship since Thursday. That maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to open himself up to the possibility of a new romance—with her. And all at once, despite all the problems that had beset the Hamilton family, she thought about happy endings…and began to believe—as she had once, long ago—that perhaps there might be one in her future after all.
“Excuse me.”
With a start, Amy looked up at Wendy, who stood beside the table juggling two plates. From her tone, Amy realized that she must have repeated that phrase at least a couple of times. As Amy withdrew her hands and Wendy set a bagel and cream cheese in front of her, she saw Heather wave at her from across the room, then weave toward her with a purposeful stride.
“I thought you might be here.” Her sister drew up beside them and shot Bryan a quick look. “Hi. Sorry to interrupt.” Then she turned her attention back to Amy. “The designer just called. There’s a problem with the images for that story on the new Asian restaurant in Nashville. He needs to talk to you right away. If he can’t get them to the printer today, we could miss our press date.”
Taking one final swig of coffee, Amy grabbed her bagel and slid out of the booth. Although she was sorry they’d been interrupted, she knew that a public place like the Bakeshoppe wasn’t the best setting in which to move her relationship with Bryan to the next level, if that was even what he had in mind. Not with the Observer’s spy hanging around. Discretion had to be the operative word for every member of the Hamilton family right now.
“S
orry to desert you,” she told Bryan as she stood. “Duty calls.”
“I understand. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
“Don’t rush. Enjoy your breakfast.”
As she walked away, Amy had a feeling that he was following her progress. She told herself not to look back, that she’d only be disappointed if he was focused on his scrambled eggs and bacon instead of her. But when she reached the door, she couldn’t resist a quick peek over her shoulder. And she wasn’t disappointed.
He was staring after her, a pensive expression on his face, his breakfast untouched in front of him. When he realized she was looking at him, he started, then raised his hand, picked up his fork and began eating.
But the soft, speculative look in his unguarded eyes in the seconds before he shuttered them warmed her heart. And gave wings to her hope.
Wow.
As Amy finished reading Bryan’s interview with Dan Marconi, that was the only word that seemed adequate to describe the story. It was a stellar piece of reporting, one destined to garner national attention for Nashville Living, given the reclusive nature of the hometown novelist.
But then, everything Bryan had written since he’d joined the staff had been outstanding. His debut column on family issues was already receiving rave reviews, and several other shorter pieces reflected an exceptional flair. This story, however, was phenomenal. He’d captured the essence of the man in an urbane, articulate, sometimes witty style that took Amy’s breath away. He’d always been a very good writer, even back in high school. But in the years since he’d left Davis Landing, he’d become a master at the craft.
“Pretty good, huh?”
At the sound of Heather’s voice, Amy looked up at her sister, who stood in the doorway. “That may be a slight understatement.”
“I agree. Got a minute?”
“Sure. Have a seat. What’s up?” Heather’s expression told Amy that her sister hadn’t stopped by for a casual chat. But at least it wasn’t a family crisis this time. Amy had come to recognize the distinctive, panicked look Heather wore for those situations. This wasn’t one of them. Yet something was wrong.