by Kirk, Cindy
Jeremy’s approving gaze lingered on her lithe figure. “You’re even more beautiful than you were in high school.”
“Have you had your eyes checked lately, Mr. Rakes?” Fin teased even as she preened, obviously pleased by the compliment.
His gaze locked with Fin’s and that spark, that curious energy that surged whenever they were together, returned. “Just keeping it real, Finley.”
Way back when, Finley had been his pet name for her. Only he had been allowed to use it.
Because she felt as if she were intruding on a private moment, Ami shifted her gaze. One look at Eliza told her she wasn’t the only one aware of the connection.
Ami knew she needed to defuse the situation immediately. “Eliza, isn’t it nice that Jeremy and Fin have remained friends?”
Eliza sneered. “I’m sick of the way everyone in this town thinks the Bloom sisters are perfect.”
Confused by the vehemence and the comment, Ami blinked, then spoke lightly. “No one is perfect. Not my sisters.” She added a little laugh. “Certainly not me.”
“You’re right about that.”
The coldness that filled Eliza’s almond-shaped eyes had Ami bracing for impact.
“I wonder what everyone here would say if they knew you were drunk when you wrecked that car and nearly killed Lindsay.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eliza, former drama club president, had a voice that carried to the back row. It didn’t fail her now. The accusation filled the room and conversation immediately halted.
Everyone turned to stare.
Eliza smirked, then once again projected her voice to the rafters. “I bet that wasn’t the first time Ami drove after drinking, either. It was just the first time she hurt someone. Too bad it was her friend and not herself.”
“Stop it.” Lindsay quickly moved forward through the crowd. “I’ve never blamed Ami. That deer could have walked out in front of any car.”
“You nearly died.” Eliza’s voice shook. “You were in a coma. I didn’t know whether you were going to make it. Even when you regained consciousness, you had to fight to walk again. It broke my heart to see you struggle like that. And your face . . .”
A sudden sheen of tears appeared in Eliza’s eyes, but the Cherries’ executive director quickly blinked them back.
“The accident wasn’t Ami’s fault,” Lindsay insisted.
“Why does she ride her bike and walk everywhere unless she knows she’s guilty?” Eliza shifted her venomous gaze to Ami. “Lindsay may have forgiven you. I never will.”
Ami’s heart pounded so hard she felt lightheaded. She glanced around and caught Beck’s eye from across the room. The expression on his face was everything she feared. The shock and the disbelief. Next would come the condemnation. She couldn’t bear to see that in his eyes. She looked away.
“Eliza Shaw. I’m asking you to leave my home.” Ami’s father spoke in the firm, no-nonsense tone he’d successfully used to control unruly students for thirty-five years.
Anita stood beside him, a look of horror on her face. She leveled a glance at Ami. If looks could kill, Ami would be six feet under. “You were drunk?”
Her voice cracked with outrage.
Ami supposed she could deny it. But the secret had become a burden she no longer wished to carry. She gave a jerky nod. Then, because Anita’s piercing gaze seemed to demand more, Ami took a shaky breath and found her voice.
“I had a wine cooler at the fish boil.” Ami paused and swallowed hard. “There was also punch there—”
“Which everyone knew had been spiked with grain alcohol,” Eliza interrupted. “Don’t bother denying you drank that, too, because I saw you. I’ve only kept quiet all these years because Lindsay made me promise. But no more. Everyone needs to know what you’re really like.”
“I had a few sips of the punch. I was told there was some champagne in it, but it was really strong, so I didn’t have much. But what I did have may have been enough to slow my reflexes.” Ami took a deep breath and met Anita’s eyes. “I’m very sorry your daughter was hurt.”
“Not simply hurt, scarred for life.” Anita stepped forward, dark eyes flashing, index finger jabbing the air. “Because of you.”
Her finger would have made contact if Steve hadn’t taken Anita’s arm and pulled her back.
Without missing a beat, the woman whirled to face her daughter. “Why didn’t you tell me she was drunk? She should have been charged, made to pay. I—”
“I’d had a wine cooler, too, Mom. And some punch. All the kids were drinking that night.” Lindsay turned to Eliza. “And Ami wasn’t drunk. She didn’t like the spiked punch any more than I did. It tasted foul. At the most she had two or three sips.”
Eliza lifted her chin, opened her mouth, then shut it.
An awkward silence descended over the room.
Ami’s heart pounded so hard it made her dizzy. She knew she should probably say something more, but her brain seemed incapable of forming the words.
“It’s time to cut the cake.” Prim stepped forward, a serene look on her face. Being the mother of twins had obviously taught her how to control her emotions in a crisis. “Anita, will you do the honors?”
Anita took the glass of wine from Steve’s hands and downed the contents. After inhaling deeply and releasing her breath several times, she appeared calmer. She even managed to force a faux smile. “Of course.”
Steve cast Anita a wary glance as she bustled off.
“We’ve got plenty of food and drink, and the cake is being cut,” Steve Bloom announced in a loud voice filled with strain. He cleared his throat. “Knowing Anita, it will taste every bit as good as it looks. Which means it will go fast. You better get in line now if you want a piece.”
Fin now flanked one of Ami’s sides and Marigold flanked the other. The three sisters watched Primrose take Eliza’s arm, obviously suggesting once again that it was time for her to leave.
Eliza stared unblinking at Ami for several seconds before jerking her arm from Prim’s grasp and striding out the door.
Gathering her courage, Ami searched the room for Beck.
He was gone.
A murmur rippled through those who’d remained in the living room.
“Everyone.” Prim clapped her hands. “Final warning. Grab yourself a piece of cake before I turn my boys loose on it.”
Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd as the rest of the guests moved to join the line snaking around the cake table. On their way, many stopped to offer Ami a supportive word.
Even as her heart was breaking, she forced a smile. This was her father’s celebration and she certainly didn’t want to add to the drama by running off, weeping. She would stay strong and get through the evening.
Ami had to admit that when she saw Katie Ruth—gossip columnist to the Good Hope community—headed in her direction, she briefly considered bolting.
But as her high school classmate drew close, Ami saw only sympathy in the woman’s gaze.
Katie Ruth placed a hand on Ami’s arm and looked her straight in the eye. “I want you to know I won’t be mentioning anything Eliza said in my column.”
“Driving after drinking was stupid.”
“Yes, it is,” Katie Ruth agreed. “But you were young and didn’t realize the spiked punch was that strong.”
Ami lifted her chin. “That’s no excuse.”
The former high school cheerleader’s gaze softened. “Ami, you ran into a bad batch of spiked punch and had a deer run in front of your car.”
Ami thought of the woman who’d killed Beck’s wife and baby. While not legally drunk, she’d been impaired. It was so easy to think an accident would never happen to you. Ami and Nina Holbrook knew differently.
“You often have people write guest columns.” Ami spoke slowly as an idea began to form.
Clearly puzzled by the shift in the conversation, Katie Ruth pulled her brows together. “Now and then.”
“I’d l
ike to do a small piece. Is there room tomorrow?”
Katie Ruth grimaced. “Tomorrow is the day I list all the events happening in the area on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so the issue is pretty full.”
“Please.”
The pretty blond’s gaze searched Ami’s face. “If you keep it short and have it to me by eight a.m., I’ll fit it in.”
Ami took Katie Ruth’s hand and gave it a heartfelt squeeze. “Thank you.”
The Open Door editor shifted from one foot to the other. “Is everything okay between you and Beck? I saw him leave.”
“We’re good.” Actually, Ami had no idea what Beck was thinking or feeling. While she was glad to have no more secrets between them, the fact that he’d walked out seemed an ominous sign.
But she couldn’t think of Beck now. She had a party to get through first.
Her lips lifted in a humorless smile as she recalled Marigold’s comment about not knowing what was around a curve until you made the turn.
Well, Ami had made the turn and found herself on an emotional roller coaster ride. There had been horror, then a surprising sense of relief when her long-held secret had been revealed. And when she’d confessed and taken full responsibility for her actions, the heavy weight of shame and guilt she’d carried for over a decade had lifted from her shoulders.
While Ami was wise enough to know she couldn’t undo the past, she would fully embrace the gift of Lindsay’s forgiveness and move on, knowing she was strong enough now to face anything.
Except a life without the man she loved.
Beck parked his vehicle in the carriage house but couldn’t make himself go inside the house that held so many memories of Ami. Not when his thoughts of her were in such turmoil.
He locked the carriage house and started walking. Ten minutes later he stood outside the Flying Crane. Music spilled from the bar out onto the street and lights from the empty outdoor seating area illuminated the bay.
Squaring his shoulders, Beck shoved open the door and stepped inside. The music quickly became a pulsing beat in his head.
This was a mistake. How could he even think when surrounded by such noise? Even as he was tempted to leave, he made his way to the curved mahogany bar and ordered a beer.
Right now, not thinking sounded pretty darn good.
“Beck.” Tucking an empty drink tray under her arm, a petite brunette with wavy hair and big brown eyes hurried up to him.
The woman, dressed in the familiar T-shirt and short skirt uniform of the Flying Crane, looked familiar. It took him only a second to place her.
“Izzie Deshler,” he said, recognizing the talented painter who’d done such a great job on his walls. “I thought you’d be painting murals, not serving drinks.”
“Have to pay the bills.” She lifted a thin shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. Her gaze searched his face. “Is everything okay?”
For her to ask, Beck figured he must look as bad as he felt. He gestured to the seat beside him. “I’ve been better.”
“I hear ya.” She glanced at the bartender, signaled she was taking a ten-minute break, then confiscated the empty stool beside him. “Holidays can be difficult.”
Before she could say more, the bartender, a burly young man with a shaved head and a sleeve of tattoos on one arm, placed a beer in front of Beck and a glass of water in front of Izzie.
“Are you staying in town for the holidays?” she asked when the silence lengthened.
“I am.” He took a long drink of the beer he didn’t really want. “How about you?”
“No time—or money—to go anywhere.” She swiped the condensation off the side of her glass with a long, artistic finger. “My only day off this week is Christmas. That’s only because the bar, as well as the rest of the businesses in town, is closed that day.”
“If you’re looking for companionship and food on Christmas, stop by the café.” Beck swiveled on the stool to face her. “I’m keeping Muddy Boots open. We’ll be serving a free Christmas meal for anyone without a place to go on the holiday.”
A light flared in Izzie’s gold-brown eyes. “That’s nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy,” Beck joked, then immediately sobered, thinking how he’d walked out on Ami at the party. He shoved the thought aside and refocused on Izzie. “If you come, you better be prepared. When people find out you’re the artist who did the mural and the wall, you’ll be fielding all sorts of questions.”
She sipped her water. “Positive? Or negative?”
“All positive.” Beck realized suddenly he should have been passing along the nice things customers had said about her work. And he should have made use of the stack of business cards she’d given him.
After all, neighbors helping neighbors was the Good Hope way.
“Max Brody—my accountant—has an office that definitely needs help from someone with your flair.” Beck grimaced, thinking of Max’s boring white walls. “He’ll be calling you after Christmas.”
Just because Beck hadn’t made any referrals before didn’t mean he couldn’t now. After all, it was never too late to do the right thing.
“Thanks. I appreciate any business you can send my way.” Izzie gestured to some strangers sitting at a four-top, enjoying a heaping plate of nachos. “I’m always telling out-of-towners to check out Muddy Boots.”
Beck stayed until her break was over. He used the time to collect his thoughts, to make sense of what he’d discovered this evening.
About Ami.
About himself.
She’d kept the fact that she’d been drinking before her accident from him. Why had she been so reticent to share that part of her history?
It had to be because of what happened to Lisette. Ami must have feared he wouldn’t forgive her, just as he hadn’t forgiven Nina.
Physically, he and Ami had been as close as two people could be. Had he subconsciously placed invisible lines in the sand to keep them from taking that last step toward complete and total trust? Had he wanted to keep a little distance between them?
He couldn’t discount the possibility.
If he let Ami fully in, would there be room for Lisette? He used to think of his wife multiple times a day. Now there were days when he didn’t think of her at all. Times when he had difficulty visualizing her face.
If he forgave Nina, would that mean he was letting her off the hook for what she’d done to his wife? But he knew Lisette wouldn’t want him to be bitter and angry.
Beck’s head swam with questions. When he’d gone to the open house, he’d been ready to commit to Ami. The only thing he knew for certain now was that he had some hard thinking to do before he faced her again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning Beck hopped out of bed and hurriedly pulled on jeans and a sweater before he realized there was no need to rush. Tom was handling things at the café and Ami was spending the day with her sisters. Even if she hadn’t been, he doubted she’d want to share a cup of coffee and a doughnut with him.
Not after last night.
Max had called and told him everything that had happened after he’d left the open house. Neither of them could understand why Eliza had done such a thing.
It was evident she believed Ami’s actions had caused her friend’s injuries, but apparently Lindsay didn’t agree.
Where was Eliza’s compassion?
Then again, where was his compassion?
After a restless night filled with dreams of Lisette, Nina, and Ami, all he wanted was a few minutes of solitude and a strong cup of his favorite chicory blend.
He reached the main floor and paused at the bottom of the steps. The house, which had pulsed with energy only days earlier, now looked hollow and forlorn.
The only sign of life, the only reminder of the vibrancy that had once filled this great room, was the Christmas tree. Beck crossed to it now, his footsteps striking on the hardwood like tiny slaps.
The tree filled the window with sweeping green boughs s
tretched proudly out, as if in welcome. His fingers curved around one of the ornaments he had purchased from the antique store. The form of the little doll gave him a cheeky grin. Ami had placed the ornament on the tree, her smile as bright as the doll’s.
He remembered everything about that day: her laughing green eyes, the cinnamon-and-vanilla scent that was uniquely hers, and most of all, her joy. The way she embraced life with such optimism.
The sweet memory had him jerking back from the ornament as if the doll had gone red-hot beneath his fingers. He’d made many mistakes in his life, and leaving the party last night had been one of them. He’d let the woman he loved face a vicious wolf alone.
Not alone, he told himself; her family had been there. But he shook off the thought. He should have been the one to defend her, to support her. Instead, he’d let himself get so caught up in his own feelings that he’d failed her.
Shame flooded him. He began to turn from the tree but stopped abruptly, noticing for the first time there was a gift beneath the branches.
He squatted down and retrieved the neatly wrapped present, immediately recognizing his name written on the card in Ami’s distinctive handwriting. Slowly, he traced the bold letters, imagining the delight she’d taken in slipping the gift unnoticed under the tree. The thought of his pleasure would have given her pleasure.
Beck expelled a breath and straightened, his fingers still curved around the brightly wrapped package. He flipped open the tag. Wishing you the merriest, happiest Christmas ever! All my love, Ami.
The message was so her that he had to smile.
Carrying the present with him to the kitchen, he placed it on the counter beside a stack of papers—most of them Victorian tour flyers the movers had picked up from the floor—then started the coffee.
His gaze returned to the gift. Today was only the twenty-third. Checking out the card was one thing, opening a present early quite another. Hopefully she’d be with him on Christmas and he’d open it while she sat beside him, a glass of wine or a cup of tea in her hand.