Try, Try Again
Page 24
A tiny full-spectrum rainbow danced across her clenched hands. She eyed the colorful movement, then stood and moved to the window, seeking the source.
Slanted sunlight bounced through prismed corners of windows marching along the old church wall, their picture-painted panes open for whatever reason. Spring cleaning? Lemon-oiling the aging pews?
The sun’s position must have been just right, because the beams shot into her storefront, dancing and moving with every shift of the propped windows in the brisk spring wind.
She had no idea how long she sat there, eyeing the combination that had to be perfect, a sight she might never see again depending on the day and the angle of light through glass.
Even as she pondered that, the sun moved higher, its rays less oblique. The rainbows thinned and faded, the colors muting. Within moments the spectral visitors fled, leaving a fleeting memory of magical dancing light and rainbow parties.
She stared across the road at the beautiful stone church and wondered why it took so long and so much to teach her the basic fundamentals, what made her so stubborn and willful?
Conor hadn’t left because he wanted to. He’d left because he needed to, and as a woman who loved words, she understood the difference between those two verbs better than most. Putting a call through to her store manager, she made arrangements for the other woman to oversee the final days of prep work at the bookstore while Alicia tackled the somewhat unnerving idea of cruising to New York with a full grown German shepherd in her Range Rover.
Chapter Seventeen
Conor peered at his laptop screen, ruing the waves of exhaustion that swept with no warning.
Being back in New York should have felt normal and good. Comfortable, with Foster at his beck and call. But comfort had taken on a whole new meaning in Princeton, at least he thought so. Before he decided to tempt the Grim Reaper, that is.
He missed Alicia. Missed her spark, her fire. He thought he’d made her laugh a time or two before he took ill, and in his best possible scenarios, he was sure he remembered some rather invigorating conversation just before he went down for the count.
Or maybe he dreamed the whole thing.
A glance at his watch made him frown. He needed to drive to Princeton, claim his dog, and re-negotiate terms of the truce with Alicia. She’d gone scurrying back to her hiding place because New York had swooped in, snatching his time and attention.
So be it.
He didn’t have to work in New York. The firm would go on, with or without his presence. Corporations would continue to make foolish mistakes in the name of greed or arrogance, and corporate lawyers would consequently rake in millions. Kind of the law of the land. But the law of the land didn’t exist exclusively in New York. If she needed him in Princeton more, he’d be there.
If she needed him at all.
Staring at Ehrmentraut figures that seemed destined to fell a huge company from within, Conor pressed a hand to his face. Too much computer work gave him headaches, but they were less intense these last few days.
His cell phone rang. Conor glanced at the display, frowned and answered. “Conor Bradstreet.”
“Mr. Bradstreet?”
The female voice sounded familiar and uncertain. Conor straightened in his chair. “Yes?”
“This is Chloe Martin. Grayce’s mother.”
“Yes, Ms. Martin, how are you?” Interest heightened, Conor sat back in his chair, keeping his tone gentle.
“I was wondering...” she hesitated, her voice soft.
“Yes?”
“That offer you made. Is it still available?”
Conor breathed a sigh of relief. “Most assuredly. Are you ready for this step, Ms. Martin? Because if you and I blow this, my son-in-law will have my head on a platter, and that’s a less than comfortable position for me to be in.”
“I know. I...” Her voice hesitated again. “I called last week. They told me you were sick.”
“I was. But I’m recovering well.”
“Good.” Once again she paused. Her breath hitched up. “It scared me that I might not get the chance you offered.”
“I know.” Conor nodded. He’d been afraid a time or two. He recognized the symptoms. “But the offer is on the table, Ms. Martin.”
“Chloe.”
He smiled. “Chloe. I’ve got several rehab facilities with the ability to take you. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll have my limo pick you up within the hour.”
“Consider it said, Mr. Bradstreet.”
Tit for tat. “Conor,” he told her. “Like it or not, we’re family, and I’m totally, absolutely, irrevocably in love with your daughter. She’s one of the most fascinating creatures on earth.”
“Is she smart?”
“Very.”
“Like Brian.”
Conor objected. “I see both parents in her. She’s definitely a born performer. Very expressive. A natural for the stage. Or corporate law.”
Chloe laughed out loud. “Luckily we’ve got a few years to fight that one out. So... You’ll send the limo?”
“It’s on its way. And, Chloe?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She breathed deep, then sighed. “Do you pray, Conor?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Put me on the list, okay?”
He smiled. “You’ve been there for months. I think we’re at payoff time. Now go. Get ready. My driver will know what to do.”
“Okay. I—”
“Chloe. Enough already. Go.”
She laughed. “Goodbye.”
He hung up, feeling good. The figures beneath the Ehrmentraut file swam before his eyes. Time to walk away from the screen for a bit, let the ibuprofen do its job.
The apartment seemed more empty than usual after the foray of visitors. Foster had muscled most of them away, but the give and take at the door had been both disturbing and commendable. Of course if he were poor, the stream of well-wishers might have been more abbreviated.
Kim was down to calling once a day and stopping by on alternate days, trying not to hover.
Addie called once a day the first week, decided he’d live to a ripe old age on or about Thursday, and he hadn’t heard from her since. Typical Adelaide.
Alicia?
Alicia forwarded plain, unadorned and somewhat boring dog reports, when what he wanted was to sit her down, gaze into her eyes and see if what he’d dreamt was true or the leftover visions of a fever-racked brain.
Probably the latter, but he felt pretty sure the image he carried from the short minutes they shared at Benedetti’s was old-style Alicia. Did she really give him that ‘come hither’ look, the one that brought him to his knees? Tease him about food and timing?
Not likely. A more likely scenario had his fevered dreams mixed with depressing reality. Perfectly understandable although most disappointing.
He stood and made his way to the window, eyeing the famous park, its footprint a stamp of snow-covered green and gray against concrete and stone.
The doorbell sounded. He stiffened, then relaxed. Foster would handle whomever, whatever.
A strange combination of sounds drew his attention toward the foyer. A four-footed sound clackety-clacked across the floor, followed by a huge, “Woof. Woof. Woof.”
Conor stepped forward as a glorious black and tan German shepherd trotted into the room, head high, ears perked. The dog’s profile stood magnificent, despite short spots in his thick, wooly coat. “Sarge?”
“Yes, it’s him. And me,” puffed Alicia, unknotting a long scarf from around her neck. “Did someone fail to tell New York that it’s March? Hello? Like they don’t have a calendar handy in this whole, big city? Where’s spring when you need it?”
A tiny spark began to burn somewhere in Conor’s belly. He shifted his look from Alicia to the dog and back again. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
Alicia handed off her scarf, hat and coat to a waiting Foster, ran her fingers through a
bank of dark auburn hair, and huffed. “We got more than a little tired of waiting for you to come back to Princeton.”
“We?” Conor took a step forward, an eyebrow up.
“Well, him, mostly,” Alicia answered, tugging off gloves. She tossed them onto a sofa table. “I kept telling Sarge you’d be back soon, we’d go through the whole story, each and every morning, didn’t we, fella?” She reached down and patted the dog on the head. “But that’s been my story for weeks, and he got tired of waiting, so...”
“You brought him here.”
“Yes.”
“To New York.”
“That is where you live, right?”
Conor nodded and moved closer, near enough to smell the hint of spice in her cologne. “Although I plan to exercise more options in the future.”
“Really?” Alicia copped him a smart aleck look that took him back to that fateful night at the Italian restaurant, very Billy Joel-friendly.
“See, I bought this house in Princeton.”
“Our house.”
The spark burned a little brighter.
“And I’ve got this great carpenter who’s agreed to fix things up.”
“Any way I want, right?”
Conor frowned. Traitor. Wait ‘til he got a hold of Jerome Biltman.
“Stop scowling, Jerome didn’t breathe a word, he’s as thickheaded as the rest of you men,” Alicia announced as she closed the distance between them, her footsteps confident. Sarge followed. She ran a hand across his head, the dog’s, not Conor’s. Immediately the pooch relaxed on his haunches, arching his neck, no doubt enjoying her touch, her caress. Conor had the strangest urge to stand in line, see if she’d do the same for him.
Alicia patted the dog, then took one more step. “You owe me.”
“No doubt.” Conor tried to read her expression, see how much was play, how much was passion, but she kept her intentions sheltered in a casually off-hand manner. “How much?”
Alicia angled a look at him. “Hmm?”
“How much were the vet bills?”
“Conor, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of Sarge’s vet bill. Do you have any idea how much you pay me each month?”
He did, actually. If he weren’t filthy rich, the very thought would cause him undue pain. He winced anyway, hoping for sympathy. “Yes.”
“Then you know money’s not a problem.”
“But...” Conor paused, thinking back. “You said I owe you.”
“Oh, yeah.” This time she looked up. He read her eyes, the look in them, and wondered if he might still be
sleeping, lost in a dream. “Big time, actually.”
The dog moved to a firm second place on his agenda. “Because?”
“You made me some promises a few weeks back.”
“Oh?” Two could play this game. He moved in, crowding her space, watching emotion swim in her eyes, those beautiful eyes, dark blue with gray rims and amber flecks specks. Behind her he saw Foster remove his coat from the foyer closet and head for the door. Smart man, that Foster. “About cabinets?”
“Yes.”
“And dogs?”
Alicia swept a hand toward Sarge, all soap and water clean, his eyes bright, his body lean but muscled. “Done.”
“So?”
“See, it’s like this.” She smoothed a slow hand through her hair, letting the curls fall back on her shoulders. “I’ve decided to put my house on the market.”
“You... What?” She wanted to talk real estate at a time like this? Conor hoped he heard wrong.
She nodded. “It’s too big, for one thing.”
Like this was news? The stupid house hadn’t grown in the twelve years she’d been there. Oops, there was that word again, watch it, Conor.
“And I always liked living right in town.”
Conor’s heart went to full pause mode. “Oh?”
“I figured we could board the horses at any one of several fine choices.”
“Sensible.”
“And who needs two houses in a town the size of Princeton?”
“Two?” The import of her words struck him. He looked down at her, his heart expanding that last little bit, wondering if she meant... “What do you need, Leash?”
She stared up, into his eyes, lips parted, her breathing unsteady but her gaze secure. One hand snaked around his neck, pulling him down. “Us,” she whispered as his lips met hers, the touch soft and warm, heady with invitation. “I need us, Conor.”
Somewhere in the back of his head he heard the dog whine, then make the customary three-circle spin before curling up in a ball on the living room rug, ready to wait them out.
Obviously the dog was as smart as the butler.
The End
Author Bio
Born into poverty, Ruth Logan Herne likes to be called “Ruthy”, she loves her mid-life crisis writing career, and thanks God (after pinching herself!) for this dream come true. Mother of six , no seven kids (Ruthy may or may not have stolen her goddaughter and made her a daughter of her heart while her sister wasn’t looking), grandmother to twelve, she and her husband Dave live on a small farm in upstate New York . She works full time but carves a few hours each day to write the kind of stories she likes to read, filled with poignancy, warmth and delightful characters. She loves God, coffee, chocolate, country, dogs and family and thinks kids are the best miracle ever. You can visit her on Goodreads, or at ruthloganherne.com, her blog www.ruthysplace.com or hang with Ruthy and other inspirational authors at www.seekerville.blogspot.com , or www.yankeebellecafe.blogspot.com a fun cooking/child raising blog she shares with other regional authors. She loves company and loves to talk so come prepared…
Other books
by
Ruth Logan Herne
http://amzn.to/12IQAbd
From Love Inspired Books:
North Country:
Winter’s End
Waiting Out the Storm
Made to Order Family
The Men of Allegany County Series:
Reunited Hearts
Small-town Hearts
Mended Hearts
Yuletide Hearts
A Family to Cherish
His Mistletoe Family
Kirkwood Lake Series:
The Lawman’s Second Chance
Falling for the Lawman
The Lawman’s Holiday Wish (December, 2013)
From Summerside Press:
Love Finds You in the City at Christmas (October 2013)
Two novellas featuring Ruth Logan Herne’s “Red Kettle Christmas” and Anna Schmidt’s “Manhattan Miracle”