The Bachelor's Unexpected Family

by Lisa Carter

  “Kristina, I—”

  “Don’t.” She staggered back and fumbled for the chain around her neck.

  That chain... He gritted his teeth. “Kris, we need to talk.” He reached for her.

  She wrenched out of his reach. “This isn’t right.” She braced against the railing. “Paxton is the great love of my life.”

  Is...

  “You wouldn’t have kissed me like that unless—”

  “There’s always only been Pax.” She gripped the dog tags. “I can’t—”

  “You mean you won’t.” Blinding anger at her stubbornness shook him. “You won’t even try.”

  He’d hoped—oh, how he hoped once she felt even a measure of what he felt for her, that she’d...that she would what?

  Fall into his arms? Declare her forever love for him? Want a life with him?

  He was the biggest kind of fool. She was lonely. He was lonely. That was it.

  Shaking like a beech tree in a gale-force wind, she rubbed the metal tags between her fingers. “I’m sorry, Canyon.”

  He steeled his heartbeat to settle. To go numb once more. To soar above the pain. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should’ve never...”

  “I asked you to kiss me.”

  He turned away. “So now we both know.”

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  He picked up the tangled string of lights. “No one ever means to hurt anyone.”

  But it happened. Over and over. For him, at least.

  He was an idiot. Had he learned nothing from his grandmother and his mother? Happily-ever-afters weren’t meant for Colliers.

  “Let me help you with the lights. It’s the least—”

  “If I can’t have the most with you, Kristina Montgomery, then I don’t want the least. Not from you.”

  A glitter of tears welled in her eyes. “I’m just so confused. I—”

  He cleared his throat. “I think it’s probably better if we give each other some space.”

  She shivered and hugged herself. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Not even close to what I want. But maybe what we both need right now.”

  She scanned the gazebo. “But the lights—”

  “Like I said, I got this. Leave me alone, Kristina.” His voice hitched. “Please.”

  Without another word, she walked away. Away from him. Away from a life with him.

  His heart felt as dead as the only man she’d ever love.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kristina’s mornings were free once again. Over the next month, she made good on her promise to attend GriefShare.

  Other than introducing herself, she didn’t have much to say. She was there to learn about the grief process. She saved contemplation of her own situation for the wee hours of increasingly lonely nights.

  As for her nonexistent relationship with Canyon? At thoughts of him, her mind grew as foggy as the morning mist over the marsh.

  Jade spent after-school hours studying at Kristina’s house. Joint carpool continued. Yet Kristina didn’t see much of the aerial aviation specialist as March blossomed into April.

  Instead, Gray spent his weekends and afternoons at the airfield learning every single mechanical part on every single aircraft. At Canyon’s insistence, before he’d allow the boy into a cockpit.

  She found herself watching the sky for Canyon’s plane as the growing season began. And because she couldn’t seem to help herself, listening for the droning sound of his engine when he returned each afternoon.

  The sight of the yellow wings sent a double shaft of pain and pleasure into her heart. How it could be both, she didn’t understand.

  But nothing stopped her from returning to the kitchen window each day. Searching the sky. Scanning the horizon. Until her hope was rewarded.

  Slowly, the soil warmed. The earth was reborn. Spring enveloped the Shore as winter lost its grip. And life was restored.

  Her garden pulsed with vibrancy. Foliage unfurled on the trees between her house and the airfield. Apple green—the color of spring in its first flush. Reminding her of the spring when Pax came into her life all those years ago.

  That season forever past. But somehow, this year the flowers seemed startlingly vivid. She wasn’t sure why.

  Her garden bloomed with reckless exuberance. Reckless because she feared the potential of a killing frost to stunt new growth.

  So she hunkered in her bungalow. But no more flying lessons. No more coffee or meals. No more shared anything with Canyon.

  At church, she kept her distance from Canyon. And Canyon kept his. Which was exactly what she wanted. Wasn’t it? Then Margaret Davenport called.

  “I need your expertise. We have an emergency wedding situation. Gloria Fitchett’s granddaughter absolutely has to get married this Friday.”

  “Friday?” She clutched the phone. “As in tomorrow? What about the Easter egg hunt on Saturday?”

  “Exactly why the wedding has to take place on Friday.” Margaret’s tone became clipped. “The fiancé just received his orders to ship out next week.”

  “I don’t understand why this involves—”

  “He’s stationed across the bay in Norfolk. The wedding was set for June, but with his sudden deployment, they don’t want to wait.” Margaret’s voice softened. “Kristina, can you come to Inglenook and help me assemble a bridal bouquet or not?”

  She glanced around her kitchen. The kids were at school—she’d started thinking of Jade almost as her own. Her day stretched before her. She was sick of her own company and her muddled thoughts. Maybe she could use a distraction.

  “Kristina,” Margaret cajoled. “I figured, being a military wife, you would understand.”

  “I’m a military widow,” she corrected.

  Saying the words carried a twinge of pain but no longer the dart of grief she’d come to expect. She blew out a tentative breath, relieved and saddened at the same time.

  Margaret wasn’t finished with her sales pitch. “You understand better than most the demands the military makes on a family.”

  That she did. Besides, how could she refuse an invitation to see the much-lauded Inglenook?

  “I’ll come.”

  “Excellent.” Satisfaction dripped across the line. “I assume you know the way.”

  She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Typical Margaret—the center of her own universe. As if anyone could not know the way to Inglenook.

  “I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Margaret.”

  Margaret sniffed. “Not a moment longer. I don’t like to be kept waiting.” Then she hung up.

  Kristina groaned. This had the makings of a trying day. Margaret had a way of putting a person’s back up. Or at least hers. So she deliberately dawdled.

  She put away the laundry. She lingered over her grocery list. But sneaking a peek at the clock, she couldn’t endure the tension. It’d take a braver woman than Kristina to incur Margaret Davenport’s displeasure.

  “Coward...” But she headed for the car.

  The traffic this time of year was nonexistent. She slowed as she approached town. Circling the square, she averted her eyes from the gazebo. She continued south to the other end of Seaside Road. A few country miles later, she sighted Inglenook’s pillared brick entrance.

  Kristina braked in the middle of the road, letting the car idle. Fields and woods lay on both sides of the road. Not another home in sight. Isolated, even for the sparsely populated Shore.

  She gulped, suddenly glad for her small, comfy bungalow. Margaret must get extremely lonely out here by herself. But on second thought, perhaps not.

  Margaret was too busy running Friends of the Library and the church altar guild. Probably running the Commonwealth of Virginia, too.


  To the best of her knowledge, Margaret didn’t have any children or grandchildren. Not for the first time, Kristina thanked God for Gray.

  Making a left, she followed the gravel drive around the bend. At the straightaway, she steered through the grove of trees lining the drive. The three-story brick Georgian rose from the landscape.

  “Wow.” She stopped the car again, impressed despite herself.

  Inglenook surpassed everything she’d heard. A colonial manor house. Margaret must rattle around in this huge structure.

  Kristina veered around the circular fountain and parked. Clamshells crunched beneath her flats as she made her way to the massive oak door.

  Jeans and her oversize gray pullover weren’t exactly appropriate for such grand surroundings. But she reminded herself this was Margaret’s idea. She was doing the woman a favor. Appropriate or not, Margaret could like it or lump it.

  Before she could knock, the door flew open.

  “Honestly, Kristina...” Margaret crossed her arms. “What took you so long?”

  Kristina’s gaze cut to her wristwatch. She was—despite her dawdling—three minutes early.

  Margaret turned away, leaving her to follow. “Don’t just stand there. We’ve got work to do.”

  Kristina stepped across the threshold into what could’ve passed for a wood-paneled great hall of an English country estate.

  “Shut the door, please. The house is drafty enough.”

  Margaret disappeared beyond the carved mahogany staircase into the rear of the house. Hurrying after her, Kristina found herself in a chintz-covered sitting room.

  Tall windows and French doors led to a tranquil view of an expansive lawn with a magnificent view of the tidal creek. Beyond the marsh grass, the creek spilled into what must be the Machipongo Inlet.

  “It’s lovely, Margaret.”

  The older woman shrugged. “Eighteenth century. My people were one of the early families.” She handed Kristina a plastic bucket partially filled with water. Margaret placed a willow basket containing a set of clippers on her own arm.

  Kristina tried not to gape at the crown moldings. “In the same family all these generations...”

  Margaret stopped, her hand on the French door. “We married well, if not wisely. Not so good a bargain in the long run. I trust you will make a better choice than I did.”

  Eyebrows raised, she followed Margaret outdoors. They crossed a flagstone terrace and headed into a shaded bower of ancient boxwoods and crape myrtles. No wonder Inglenook won Garden of the Year every year.

  At the end of the twisting trail, they came to a clearing full of yellow and orange daffodils nodding in a sweet spring breeze.

  Her breath hitched at the loveliness of the meadow. “How beautiful.”

  Margaret took out the clippers. “I trust you’ll know how best to arrange these into a bridal bouquet. Feel free to gather anything else you need.”

  Kristina did a slow 360, taking in the view. “The eucalyptus over there for greenery and the trailing ivy...”

  Margaret snipped the vines. “You have an eye for floral composition.”

  Kristina blinked. “Thank you.”

  “You should open your own shop. Kiptohanock needs a florist. Do what you love.”

  Hope momentarily surged, then flickered. “I’m an accountant, Margaret.”

  “You open your own florist shop, and you’ll have plenty of opportunities to use your accounting.”

  “I really don’t see that happening in my future.”

  Margaret balanced the basket on her arm. “And how do you envision your future here?” She sniffed, her patrician nose high in the air. “Unless you’re not serious and only sparking with Eileen Collier’s grandson to pass the time.”

  Stung, she stepped back. “Sparking?”

  “Dating.” Margaret swept toward the house. “Or whatever it’s called these days.”

  “We’re not...” Speaking to Margaret’s back, Kristina trailed after her with the flower-laden bucket. “We’re friends.” Or at least they had been.

  In a thoroughly modern kitchen, Margaret unloaded the flowers onto a granite countertop. “I heard he was giving you flying lessons. He doesn’t do that for just anyone.”

  “How did you—”

  “Nothing’s a secret on the Shore for long.”

  Kristina recalled Canyon’s comment about toilets flushing. The grapevine of Kiptohanock had struck again.

  “Canyon was helping me get over my fear of flying so I’d give my permission for him to teach Gray.”

  Margaret separated the blooms from the greenery. “I have no doubt you two could teach each other a lot.”

  Kristina wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  “Once you’re ready to let go of the past and move forward into the future.” Margaret tilted her head, stem in hand. “Case in point, the florist shop.” Her blue-green eyes sharpened. “And your dead husband.”

  Kristina’s mouth thinned. “I thought I came to arrange flowers, not be psychoanalyzed.”

  “The psychoanalysis is an added bonus. I mainly wanted to determine your intentions regarding Canyon.”

  Kristina stiffened. “Canyon is a good man. Trying to do right by his niece. He’s been a good friend to my son, who needs a male mentor in his life.”

  “And you?” Margaret’s gaze locked on to hers. “What do you need?”

  “I...” What did she need? “I still need a job. But here I’ve found a fresh start. A place to belong.”

  “All the more reason to open the shop. Put the past behind you. But what about Canyon?”

  Kristina squared her shoulders. “I realize with his family’s reputation, most people—”

  “Margaret Upshur Davenport is not most people. You misunderstand me.”

  Kristina gritted her teeth. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I ask your intentions, not because I’m afraid of Canyon hurting you.” Margaret’s eyes flashed. “But because I want to make sure you don’t hurt him if a future with him isn’t something you foresee. The boy doesn’t need more hurt in his life.”

  That “boy” was thirty-eight years old. And apparently the dragon lady of Inglenook had appointed herself his personal guardian.

  Margaret thrust a bunch of flowers across the counter at her. “Let’s work while we talk. We’ve also got boutonnieres and the maid of honor’s bouquet to assemble.”

  They worked side by side while Kristina tried to process her thoughts.

  “Eileen Collier and my mother were schoolgirls here during the last world war.”

  Kristina gave Margaret a sideways glance. She wondered where this was headed. Margaret always had an agenda.

  “You wouldn’t have recognized our little village during the war years. Its heyday ended with the stock market crash. The steamships stopped coming. And the railroad no longer brought steel magnates south to hunt and fish.”

  “How do you—You can’t be that old.”

  Margaret’s austere features lifted. “Thank you for the compliment. I think.”

  She reddened. “I meant...”

  “My mother and Eileen used to reminisce about those days when the town came back to life. The village bustled with civilian and military personnel.”

  “Was that when the airstrip next to my house was built?”

  Margaret smiled. “Created by the Civilian Air Patrol. The CAP flew daily patrols over the barrier islands.”

  “Why?”

  “Most Americans don’t realize how vulnerable the Eastern Seaboard was to invasion, especially during the first few years of war. Packs of German submarines roamed the coastal waters.”

  Kristina wished she’d asked her grandparents about their war memories before they died. “M
y grandfather, the final lighthouse keeper on the Neck, must’ve had a bird’s-eye view of the U-boats.”

  Margaret’s smile dimmed. “The airstrip is how Canyon’s grandmother Eileen met civilian pilot Freddie Collier.”

  Kristina cocked her head. “Why am I getting the feeling this doesn’t have a happy ending?”

  “Because it doesn’t.”

  Margaret handed her a roll of floral tape to bind the stems together. “He and his best buddy, a ‘been here, ‘born here pilot, Hap Wallace, palled around with my mother and Eileen. Eileen fell in love with Freddie. Like many CAP pilots, when the imminent threat was over, he and Hap enlisted in the Air Force and saw combat.”

  “I’ve heard Canyon speak of Hap Wallace. He returned unharmed?”

  “Freddie, too. After the war, they became partners in a crop-dusting business and bought the decommissioned airfield. Freddie married Eileen and moved into your bungalow.”

  “Is there a but coming?”

  Margaret pulled a spool of yellow ribbon from a drawer. “Let’s use this to finish the bouquet. We must also make additional bows for the church pews.”

  Kristina could tie bows in her sleep. She made loops of the ribbon. “What happened to Eileen’s happily-ever-after?”

  Margaret withdrew a container of yellow rosebuds from the refrigerator. “From the florist in Onancock. You could grow your own roses and have them available for customers year-round—”

  Kristina sighed, long and loud.

  The older lady tidied her workspace. “When the Korean War broke out, over Eileen’s objections, Freddie Collier rejoined the Air Force.”

  Kristina thought about her fears every time Pax had deployed. “I can understand that.”

  “Eileen was a ‘been here through and through. Not Freddie. He was the originator of the Collier wanderlust.”

  Kristina fluffed the ribbon loops into a bow. Canyon’s grandfather sounded like Pax.

  “Freddie had a need for speed and a hankering to go places. An often fatal combination. Eileen was pregnant with Canyon’s mother by then, too.”

  Her sympathy for Eileen Collier rose. She knew the hardship of single parenting during deployment.