Halfway my eye. Conor was on a typical Conor-takes-over-the-world ego trip and she’d gotten in the way. How typical.
A twinge of doubt niggled her from within, a tiny voice telling her to be kind, play fair, get over it, already. She hated that voice.
But he’d gotten the horses at least, a task that had befuddled her when no one had any available for mid-September, and Kim seemed happy, her fairy tale wedding coming together.
Now all they needed was a wicked stepmother. If availability became an issue, maybe a peri-menopausal biological mother would suffice. She sighed, glared at the blank TV once she hung up the phone, took a shower and went to bed.
Two days later a letter arrived, addressed in Conor’s bold, black script. Fresh from horse chores, Alicia shed her barn coat on the back porch, promised the smelly thing a much-needed washing, kicked off her boots, and stepped into the warmth of her designer kitchen, thankful for central heat and fresh coffee.
Inside the envelope she found a full color brochure labeled Langhorne Livery and Stables. Knowing horses, Alicia eyed the photos of the matched Shires and appreciated their stature.
She had to give it to Conor. He’d done well. The sleek black horses with their blaze of white looked tuxedo-ready, a perfect accompaniment for a wedding carriage.
Something slipped from the envelope, landing on the floor. Stooping to retrieve the folded sheet of paper, Alicia found a coffee shop gift card tucked between the folds, bright flowers dotting the front of the card.
‘Leash, just wanted to show you a little down time gratitude for all you’ve done to keep Kimber calm. That in itself is a blessing. Hope the Shires are okay with you. Nice that they already come dressed in formal wear.’
The fact that they shared the same thought about the black and white horses struck her as somewhat endearing and downright frightening. Did they really used to think alike? Of course not. How silly. She frowned, rued the action, straightened her brow, and went back to the note.
‘I know you like finer-boned horses, but these guys were available so I grabbed them. Got the gift card with flowers, hoping for spring, not because you need money for coffee, but because it’s kind of nice to have someone else buy you a cup now and again. Conor.’
Alicia eyed the horses, beautiful specimens of an old, draft breed, knowing exactly what she should do. She should pick up the phone, call Conor’s cell and thank him properly. Wavering, indecisive, she opted for the coward’s way out, moved to the phone and hit Conor’s home number, knowing he’d be at work. Chicken.
“Bradstreet residence.”
“Foster?”
“Yes, Madam. Good afternoon. How may I help you?”
You had to love Foster. No matter how much of a jerk Conor was and/or is, Alicia would have wished Foster into her half of the divorce settlement. Solid, staid, total perfect deportment and smart as a whip. A good employee and a great friend. “Can you give Conor a message for me?”
The tiny pause that followed meant she should call her ex-husband herself, talk to him, go one-on-one, but she’d gotten so used to using Foster as her go-between that the idea of not using the impeccable houseman put a lump of dread dead center in her belly.
“As you wish, Madam.”
One of these days she’d toughen up in proper fashion. Stand her ground. Stop being petty, although it seemed to have become an ingrained social skill. At the moment it seemed like way too much work for a woman about to launch her own business. “Can you tell him the horses are fine and that I appreciate the gift card?”
“I believe Mr. Bradstreet will be home this evening.”
Foster launched the words as an invitation to call back, talk to the man in question, do a little tête-à-tête.
Nope. “I’m tied up tonight, Foster. If you’d relay the message, I’d be most grateful.”
“As you wish. Anything else, Madam? Any other way I can be of service?”
Alicia hesitated, unsure what to say. Yes, Foster, I’d actually like to talk to the well-preserved old goat, see if I can hold my own. Have him give me a call when he gets in. I totally lied about being gone tonight, unless you count a trip to Wegman’s grocery as a night out. What a life. “No, Foster, that will be fine.”
She hung up, recognizing her cowardice, hating the fact, and totally unsure how to change. Oh, she talked a good game, but talk was cheap. Reality? Facing Conor, dealing with him on a regular basis? Whole other ball game.
*
Alicia jotted things into a steno-pad the next week, flipping back and forth through pages of notes, then withdrew her cell phone from a side pocket.
Sandy quirked a brow, resigned. “A smart phone would make your life so much easier.”
“You’re technologically possessed,” Alicia retorted. She hit a number and waited, impatient, then got the contractor’s machine. Again. Grrrrrrr...
Don’t wrinkle your forehead, don’t wrinkle your forehead, let the cream do its work, let the cream do its work...
“Harry, this is Alicia Bradstreet. I need confirmation on that carpentry work or our electrician can’t continue. Your guy isn’t here, it’s after ten and the electrician’s about to walk and reschedule us in two weeks, which will make me considerably less than happy. At the moment, I’m holding the electrician at bay with coffee and donuts, but my options are dwindling. He eats fast.”
Footsteps echoed to her right. Alicia turned and saw the contractor shift his gaze from her to her phone with a look of mock despair. “Mrs. Bradstreet, didn’t I promise the work to you?”
“Yes, but—”
“And do you know me to break my promise to anyone in our town?”
“No, but—”
He pointed to the mountain man who lumbered after him, toting a metal box. “Jerome Biltman, Biltman Fine Carpenters. This is Mrs. Bradstreet, our boss.”
The younger man stepped around Harry and flashed an easy smile. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bradstreet. And?” He arched a brow toward Sandy, his light eyes bright in the shadowed setting.
“Sandy McGovern,” she supplied, reaching out a hand. “Of...”
“The Realtor.” Jerome nodded as he settled his toolbox on a low worktable before accepting her offered hand. “You handled Mary and Mike Groton’s new house on Mercer not too long ago. Well,” he paused and shrugged. “New to them, anyway. They liked working with you. Said lots of good things.”
Sandy almost preened and in the years that Alicia had known the other woman, Sandy McGovern never preened. Ever. Alicia turned back to the men and tapped her watch. “Who wants to go handle the electrician whose work has been waiting for over an hour?”
“I will.” Jerome gave a quick nod and started toward the back room. “We had to finish up a university job for the Human Rights presentation scheduled for tomorrow, and since the President is slated to attend, all work has to be done and approved ahead of time by
the Secret Service.” He grimaced and ran five fingers through a mop of hair that shrieked misbehavior. “Ran into a problem or I’d have been here on time. I apologize.”
Alicia nailed him with her best piercing gaze. “Good thing I like the President, Mr. Biltman, or your excuse wouldn’t hold water. As for the university, it’s on my persona non grata list right now, so the fact that you did their work first isn’t winning you big points from me.”
He laughed, showing great teeth and a right side dimple. Sandy clutched the nearby shelving unit for support.
“I’ll plug you in before any university work from this point forward,” he promised, a hand over his heart. “But right now, I want to go meet with your electrician...”
“Jacob Felding.”
The carpenter nodded, his expression appreciative at the name. “Jake’s excellent. No wonder he’s chomping at the bit. How’d you get him so fast?” He sent her a look of interest as he turned toward the back room. “I heard he was booked solid.”
Alicia gave credit where credit was due. “Harry lined him up for me b
efore we even had approval, which is why we get along so well, isn’t it, Harry? You let me think I’m in charge and then make sure I’m not.”
Harry’s look stayed affable. “You are in charge, Mrs. Bradstreet, as long as you sign the checks, and my job is to make sure your job is worry free.”
Alicia relaxed into a broad smile. “All right, we’ll let you guys get to it, then. So, Harry, you think I’m okay to schedule stocking the shelves by March first?”
“And open in time for St. Patrick’s Day.” Harry nodded. “That gives us a solid block of time to get things in order, install the shelving units on both levels, label the areas, roll the new carpet and bring the restrooms up to code. We’ll be fine.”
“Then I’ll get out of your way,” Alicia told them. As she headed for the door, she angled her head toward the small office area. “There’s fresh coffee and donuts and bagels from around the corner. Help yourselves, gentlemen.”
“Once we get squared away.” Jerome moved toward the back room again, his steps assured.
As the door swung shut behind them, Alicia grabbed Sandy’s arm. “You practically swooned at his feet. What’s gotten into you?”
“Are ya’ blind?”
Alicia sighed. “No, his looks are all right, but he’s just a guy, Sandy.”
“A to-die-for good looking guy with a great smile, good hands and no ring.”
“You scouted his hands? Already?”
“First thing. That’s how it’s done. Come on, you can’t have totally forgotten the rules of engagement?”
“My rules of engagement differ from yours, it seems,” Alicia retorted. The mid-February day held a glimmer of spring, but an Arctic cold front was predicted by nightfall, thrusting them back to reality. Alicia could deal with reality, the surety of it. Never mind longing for a season just out of reach. Practicality loomed far too important. “Mine are currently relegated to seeing that wedding plans and wedding deposits get made to keep Kim from knuckling under the demands of her high-pressure job and her upcoming nuptials, and overseeing the progress of my new and exciting venture whose venue we just left.”
Making the right onto Witherspoon, Sandy turned into her realty office and swung the door wide to let Alicia precede her. “While mine are currently a quarter-mile down the road on that remarkable hunk of Princeton manhood we just left. Obviously I’m not as immune as you. Where has he been hiding all these years?”
Alicia rolled her eyes. “Once you’ve been married to Conor, you realize that men can be fairly unnecessary, generally untrustworthy and not all that attractive, despite their initial packaging which may or may not be prime.”
“Ouch. There goes civilization as we know it,” Sandy lamented. “Me? I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl. Meet Mr. Right, fall in love, get married, have a family, then retire rich.”
“Your lack of altruism astounds me. You forgot to save the world someplace in there.”
“My biological clock is ticking,” Sandy reminded her. “Saving the world takes second place to Mr. Right and procreation.”
Alicia couldn’t dispute that. “True, unfortunately. So why not call the carpenter, see if he’s interested in sperm donation, utilize him as needed to produce the proper end-product, thereby ensuring the kid and or kids, the great job, enough money to guarantee the whole retirement thing and no foolish man to mess up your life.”
“That has got to be the worst attitude I’ve ever encountered, and I’ve encountered many.” Sandy sent her bold look of girlfriend-type assessment. “You’ve gotten more than a little riled since our friend Conor’s come back into the picture. I wonder why that is?”
“The only picture Conor’s slated to be in is Kim’s wedding picture.” Alicia worked to keep her voice mild. “If Kim wants the image of a big, happy family for her wedding, I’m determined to give it to her. Even if it kills me.”
Sandy made a face of disbelief.
Alicia ignored it. “Anyway, I’m on at the library this afternoon, once I’ve got a lock on Garlock Estates for the reception.”
“September is beautiful there,” agreed Sandy. “And I’m expecting closing papers on a property today, which puts me at my monthly financial goal with fifteen days to go.”
“Cha-ching.” Alicia smiled. “See? Who needs a man?”
“I’m going to refrain from reminding you that the credit card you’ve done serious damage to under the guise of this wedding belongs to a man. A very specific man.”
“Who’s doing what he does best,” Alicia noted. “Throwing money around. I’m more than happy to help him spend some of his wad when it comes to my girls. You know that.”
“Luckily, they’re delightfully normal girls despite their parentage.” Sandy arched her brows as she spied an official-looking envelope on her desk. Applying a letter opener, she slit the tape and withdrew the paperwork, eyeing the contents with a knowledgeable expression. As she scanned the pages, she stopped on or about page five, her jaw slack, eyes wide. On a quick intake of air, she called for her assistant.
“Yes?” Brenda Kroder appeared in the door, brows up, hands out.
“Brenda, when did this come in?” She waved the envelope toward the middle-aged woman.
“Minutes ago, next-day delivery. I knew it concerned yesterday’s closing, so I logged in the time of delivery and set the envelope there.” Brenda pursed her lips and moved forward, her look going from Alicia to Sandy. “If you hadn’t come in just then, I was going to call your cell phone and alert you that it arrived.”
“Something wrong?” Alicia took a step toward the desk, concerned at Sandy’s expression.
“Um...no. Not wrong. Not exactly.” Sandy’s forehead furrowed. She looked from the sheaf of papers to Alicia, then dropped her gaze back down and tapped a polished finger against the official-looking documents. “These are papers from yesterday’s closing, lawyers only, very neat, very quick, no counter-offers, no contingencies, no banks, nothing dickered, not a squabble.”
“That’s good, right?” Alicia stepped forward again and lifted her shoulders in a light shrug. “Every Realtor’s dream. Money, signature, done.” She took another step, Sandy’s reaction unnerving her. “What property is this, anyway?”
“Your old house,” Sandy murmured, her voice uncertain. “One-twelve Teaberry Street.”
“Well, maybe the new owner will have better taste than the current one,” Alicia quipped, feeling a ping of remorse that her old home had slipped into new hands yet again. Poor old house. What it had been through these past twelve years. They could share stories, no doubt, about love lost and what it feels like to be uncherished and under- appreciated. “It certainly couldn’t be worse based on what you said.”
“Well, you’d be the best judge of that, my friend.”
Alicia frowned, not understanding. She lowered her chin, studying Sandy, and shook her head. “You lost me.”
Sandy made a face and tapped her nail against the papers as she chewed the left-hand corner of her lower lip. “The new owner of record is Conor Bradstreet.”
Alicia’s heart fell out of her chest and landed somewhere in the vicinity of Nassau Street. “You’re kidding.”
“Oh, honey, I wouldn’t kid about something like that. It’s here, in the disclosure papers, signed, sealed and delivered with a hefty check besides. Conor Bradstreet became the proud owner of One-twelve Teaberry at two-oh-seven yesterday afternoon.”
“How could he do this without your knowing?” Alicia sank into the chair opposite Sandy. “Didn’t he have to sign papers, the purchase offer, something to show who was buying the house?”
“He used a representative,” Sandy answered, eyeing the papers. “Someone from New York. Very common.”
“Of course.”
“It’s actually a smart move,” Sandy told her, her brow still furrowed. “When rich people make it known they want to buy something, the price skyrockets. What Conor did makes perfect business sense.”
“What Conor did i
s underhanded and demoralizing,” Alicia snapped. “He bought that house to spite me.”
“I don’t see how,” Sandy began, but Alicia cut her off.
“He’s been weaseling his way into the girls’ hearts for years now.”
“He is their father,” Sandy reminded her. “These days, with all the deadbeat dads, most mothers would welcome that attention to their children.”
“Buying them, you mean.”
“They don’t act bought, Alicia.” Sandy shook her head. “They act like they love their dad and the money is incidental. Neither one of those girls looks for handouts, and they’re both hard-working.”
“Another Conor trait.” Alicia’s blood had reached boiling point about ninety seconds before. She stood and shook a finger at the papers on Sandy’s desk. “How can we block this?”
Sandy shook her head. “Can’t. Deal’s done. Signed, sealed, delivered. Conor’s bought himself a house.”
“Not just a house,” Alicia wailed, glad that no one besides Brenda and Sandy were present to witness her total meltdown. “Our house. My old house, where I raised my kids and sat with my neighbors and played T-ball in the park. My house, which sits just around the corner from my new business.”
Sandy’s look of surprise met Alicia’s glare. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“He did this on purpose,” Alicia declared. “He’s like... stalking me. Making me think about him, about us. Turning up around corners, messing with the girls’ heads.”
Sandy sat back in the chair, musing. “It’s a bold move on his part.”
“Bold? How about dangerous? Intrusive? Humiliating?”
“Humiliating?” Sandy’s expression turned to puzzled. “How?”
“That he’ll be here, in town, where I have to see him, run into him, and think about what he did.”
“Almost nine years ago, right?”
“Don’t do that.” Alicia trembled, anger pounding from her temples to her toes. “Don’t pretend that time makes everything better, that forgive and forget nonsense. It’s not like that with Conor and me.”
“No, it’s not.” Sandy paused a quiet beat before adding, “Maybe it should be.”
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