by Anna Adams
Megan shrugged with a self-conscious smile. “But your mother’s your mother. You can’t help loving her.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been more decent to you.” Emma meant the apology. She dropped Miriam’s braid and faced Megan full on. “Do you want anything you see?”
Megan appeared not to hear. “Emma, I hope we can be friendlier from now on.”
“I’ve been wary since I met you. I didn’t realize how much I’d cut you out until you left the clinic meeting without speaking to me. People around here think I’m—”
“I don’t pay any attention to what they think.” Megan reached over to Miriam and began to rock her. “Though I’m sorry to tell you, I enjoy the crazy stories. Backyard stills and fights on stairs and pranks on tourists.”
Emma relaxed her guard a little more. “The tourist pranks are more just putting on a show for them. Folks like you come down here from New York, expecting hayseed. There’s a moment in the life of every teenager in Bliss when she must offer the tourists a show.”
“I never expected hayseeds. The teenage populace around here is a little defensive, though.” Megan also seemed to relax. She pointed. “What about that bookshelf?”
Emma had once stored her books in it. The pale sage paint was peeling and scratched. “I could redo it for you if you want it.”
“I’ll take you up on that, and I’d love the high chair and Miriam.”
“Your baby can rename her if she wants.”
“My little girl,” Megan said, rubbing her belly. “Our little girl, really. Brett’s and mine and yours, if you want to be part of her life.”
Emma stared at her stepmother’s stomach. “My baby sister,” she said. “I’ll come back when she’s born.”
“Maybe you’ll still be here. She’s due mid-December.”
Emma felt the tug of home, of this house. Of love she might find if she stayed. Or love she might lose because she’d never been herself until she’d left this town, and coming back, she was already falling into old habits. “I won’t be here in mid-December.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE ONLY GYMS in Bliss were located in the resorts on the mountain. Many of them opened their doors to local residents, and Noah chose the one with the largest heated pool. The morning after the meeting, when he’d finished working out with free weights, he changed for a swim.
The second he kicked off, his breathing settled into a rhythm and his body took over. He heard only water, saw only pool and the ceiling overhead. The laps he swam healed him. He trusted these mornings to shut out the world and his discomfort in it.
No one here needed anything from him. He had complete control. And propelling along the lane was like flying.
It was better than sinking into a bottle of vodka—an instinct he feared—or using his fists to pound the town council into working for the good of their constituents. Such thoughts drove him to swim longer, faster.
Today, he didn’t have to think. Emma, leaning against the library conference room doorway, confused, interested, troubled about Megan, flashed in his mind and refused to leave. Behind that image, he saw his first mistake: accepting her help. He’d sworn he’d stay away from her. He’d even argued with his mother about checking on Owen simply because he’d dreaded the possibility of seeing Emma, fearing the encounter would bring all his old rage back to the forefront.
When she’d left town, he’d nearly broken his jaw in his struggle to repress his anger at her ultimatum—that he could either throw his life and plans away to follow her, or she would leave without him.
That moment, when he’d realized she had no compassion for anyone except herself, had changed him. He didn’t want to love a woman like Emma, who’d used walking away as a weapon. She had problems with her mother, who loved too much, and her father, who’d been a cold fish until Megan had thawed him.
Noah swam on, completely happy to drown his feelings.
Then he heard a splash. Deana, who handed out towels at the pool entrance, had warned him a few weeks ago that a new swimmer had joined the pool, but Noah had evaded that company until today. He kept his head down.
* * *
“WHY IS YOUR hair so wet?” Brett Candler asked as Emma climbed out of her car in front of Baby Bliss, a store that sold fancy baby goods at exorbitant prices. “Where did you find a pool this time of year?”
Emma hugged her father one-armed, the Candler hugging maneuver that required only a moment’s contact. “Do you get any exercise at all, Dad?”
“Don’t tell Megan, but I’ve started running the lane between our house and your grandmother’s.”
“Why not tell her? She’d probably be glad you’re running.”
“Well, it’s more like odd raceZwalking,” he said. “And I don’t want her to see that.”
“I’ll keep my relationship advice to a minimum, Dad, but she might like to odd-race walk with you. In fact, I would, too.”
“You can. I don’t mind if you see me struggling. I’ll text when I’m heading your way in the evenings, but the day I’m breaking land speed records, I’ll fill her in. For now, she thinks I’m checking the fencing around both houses.”
“I think she’s brighter than that.”
Brett held the door to the shop for her. “She tells me you had a good talk.”
“She was honest and sweet and invited me to stop being a jerk. I’m accepting her invitation.” Emma glanced up, catching her father’s stunned expression. “She didn’t put it that way, Dad. Don’t you know her?”
“For a second, you made me wonder if you’d argued with her.”
“I love a little drama, but I’d prefer to stop having it with people.” Emma avoided her father’s anxious gaze. She had to make things right with Megan. She studied the Baby Bliss items. “What about a stroller, Dad? Megan said you have a crib.”
“A stroller. I don’t think we have one of those.”
“What colors?” There were bright ones, girly ones and basic color wheel options.
“She’s using a lot of green in the nursery.”
“Green.” Emma crossed to the wall where strollers hung in rows. “You don’t think she’d rather choose her own?”
“Aren’t they all pretty much alike?”
They looked like armored field equipment. “I guess. She can always return it for something she’d prefer.”
“Good idea.” He grabbed the nearest dangling wheel. “How about this one?”
“It’s more than the thought that counts.” Emma perused the selection. “You’re having a girl, but pink would probably get dirty. Maybe I could get brown with accents of pink.” She looked at one mostly covered in brown, with bubbly-looking cats in bows scattered across fields of pink on the seat and the underside of the roof.
“That’s too expensive,” Brett said. “You can’t spend that much money on us, Emma.”
“Megan needs to know I’m on board with the baby.”
“You’re trying now. It’s all I ask.” He sounded uncomfortable, and she looked him right in the eye, so he’d know she wasn’t pretending.
“Liking Megan isn’t an effort.” Getting over her own don’t-abandon-me, clinging instincts was where she always got stuck. “Megan’s nice, and she loves you.”
His smile changed him into a person she’d never known, a relaxed, happy person. “I know she does,” he said. “No matter how much gossip she endures about our stereotypical May-December romance.”
“You aren’t stereotypical. Megan came here instead of trying to lure you to New York. She has to work like any outsider for trust. I didn’t show up to support you, and I doubt Mother has been a cheerleader for your relationship.”
“I don’t see much of Pamela, and Megan sees less of her. Not that I don’t think Megan could handle her. We just have no reaso
n to visit with her.”
“I haven’t seen her yet either.” And there was no reason to discuss her mother with her father. She pointed at the gamboling kittens. “I’m thinking this one. Do you like it?”
“I’m not letting you buy that. It costs more than my first car.”
Most of the shops in Bliss sold goods more likely to be found on Rodeo Drive. Bliss’s architecture was protected in its pristine, nineteenth-century origins, but pricing was always right up-to-date.
Emma slipped a card from the Bliss Baby-decorated plastic pocket beneath the carriage. “You’re not that old, Dad, and Owen discovered that someone had insulated the back bathroom walls downstairs. The insulation was neither toxic to humans nor irresistible to termites. So I have mad money.”
“That you should put in the bank.”
“My account is healthy enough.”
“Is Owen overcharging you on anything?”
She glanced at her father as they approached the checkout counter. “Did you hear me say he’d saved me money?”
“He didn’t save it. Someone simply completed that work, so he didn’t have to charge you to redo it. I wonder when your grandmother had it done.”
Emma’s father had never been at ease with his mother-in-law’s lack of need for his advice.
“Owen didn’t have to tell me. I’m so clueless he could have double-charged me for insulation I don’t need.”
“I’d better check out this work he’s doing.”
“I wish you would, actually. You renovated our house when I was in elementary school. You know what to look for.”
“Then you are concerned.”
“Not with Owen. With my lathe and plaster—whatever amount the termites couldn’t stomach.”
“I’ll come. I feel guilty I didn’t force you to let me take care of important issues like your termite treatment on that house while you were gone.”
“That wasn’t your job, Dad. I should have hired someone to manage the property.”
“I should have just taken over. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, except Louisa never really appreciated my finer qualities so I didn’t feel welcome at her house.” He shrugged. “I did hear some gossip the other day.”
Emma closed her eyes, sighing. An overly curious farming neighbor had always kept himself up-to-date on Nan’s doings, too. “Something to do with Hank Kuchar hearing Noah’s car grind up my driveway?”
“He thought I might want to know that the jerk who jilted you was dropping by early on a Saturday.”
“I jilted Noah, Dad.”
“After his father threw you down the stairs and then blamed it on you?”
“He didn’t throw me. He was too close to Nan, and we both tumbled down the stairs. But I am glad you take up for me when you hear that lie.”
“I told you not to leave then. People thought you started that whole mess at your grandmother’s. On Thanksgiving morning. That was a scandal that took some chewing.” He took the card from her hand. “Why did you hire Owen Gage to work on your house? You’re not trying to catch Noah’s attention again, are you?”
She shouldn’t have come back, even for a visit. “If there’s a worst to think around here, someone will think it. Noah assumed the same thing, as if I’d repeat my worst mistakes. I can manage my life without you or Noah trying to point out where I go wrong. I can hire my own contractor and buy my own stepmother a stroller for my half sister.”
Brett caught her sweater sleeve, pulling her to a stop in the wide, not so crowded aisle. “Don’t call your sister that. Megan’s hoping you’ll be able to accept her without the half or step, or whatever it is.”
Emma brought her hand to her father’s to reassure him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. She will be my sister. My whole sister. I’m looking forward to spoiling her.”
“How will you do that if you don’t stay?”
They reached the counter, and she pushed the little Take-Me card across the counter. A woman in clothing and jewelry Emma wouldn’t be able to afford if she sold her termite-ravaged house for an unexpected windfall ran a scanner over the price tag. She also took Emma’s credit card, bringing it close to her face to inspect it.
“I’m supposed to ask for a peek at your ID, but as long as you’re with Councilman Candler...” she said, her simpering even more offensive for its underpinning of sincerity.
Even her father stiffened. Bliss had more than its share of good, honest mountain people, but it also offered work to plenty of stuffed, appearance-conscious shirts.
“This is my daughter, Mrs. Link.”
“I’d heard she’d left...” The woman broke off as if she’d realized she shouldn’t share everything she’d heard. “Speaking of which, my husband told me Dr. Gage presented his updated proposals to the council again. When will that arrogant man learn?”
Emma kept her expression neutral. Even her father’s mouth looked pinched. Noah could be arrogant, but this woman was just stirring up trouble. She was the sort of person Emma had dreaded meeting when she came back to the little town, focused on creating appearances to bring in big tourist money.
Emma signed her receipt as a purple-aproned clerk brought the new stroller, already unfolded and ready for service, to the front of the store. Emma took the handles and maneuvered it through the shop doors.
“I feel their eyes on me.”
“You’re fine.”
At her dad’s Range Rover, they had to consult helpful drawings on the carriage’s tags to learn the mysteries of folding a stroller. At last they managed and hoisted it into the back of his vehicle.
Emma took her seat beside him in the front. “What’s that woman’s problem with Noah?”
“Why do you care? You’re over the guy.”
“I went to the meeting he held at the library last night.”
Her father turned to face her. “Why would you do that? You’re not even staying.”
“It’s my home. I pay taxes on Nan’s house. I have a right to speak. Or listen.”
“But don’t get involved. You’ll make us a spectacle.”
“Again?” she asked.
“That wasn’t your fault. I’m not saying you caused a scandal when you left. You needed to escape this place.”
“But are you withholding your approval of the clinic because of what happened between Noah and me?”
“Of course not.” He started the car and turned toward Main Street. “Not anymore, anyway.”
“Why would you? I’m the one who delivered an ultimatum and left town.”
“Because Noah could not put you first. Maybe you were just engaged too long.”
“Considering he was still in school, I’d say not, but I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Then we’ll clear the air about the clinic. We on the council have to live with the covenants the town council of 1962 established. They set architectural standards, and they also left a standard for the kinds of businesses we can accept and still live up to the premise we offer the outside world.”
“Premise? You mean that this is a winter wonderland where nothing more dangerous than a sprained ankle occurs? That’s wrong. We’ve had heart attacks and head injuries. We’ve had mothers who’ve lost their children, and children who’ve lost parents.”
“Don’t try to manipulate me. More citizens are on our side than Noah’s.”
“I’m guessing not one of your bunch has had a truly sick child or run afoul of a chainsaw.”
“Or eaten a meal that resulted in food poisoning. We’ve heard it all, Emma.”
“Have you thought of Megan?”
“If my wife had an emergency due to her pregnancy, I’d buy a helicopter if I had to.”
“Nice, Dad. Will you do that for Guy Coake’s wife? I n
oticed she’s pregnant.”
She’d almost accidentally rammed the woman with a grocery cart. Josie Coake, wife of the best pancake chef in town, had been sampling a dubious-looking, bagged pickle.
“Let it go,” her father said.
Josie was the type of medical case who’d appeal to Bliss’s voting public. Her husband cooked all hours, and she stayed home to care for their children. They’d sold their second car to free themselves from the payment. They wouldn’t be buying a helicopter.
“People like Josie are lucky Noah stayed back here to practice,” Emma said.
“He always knows what to do for a family in need. You were the only one who couldn’t depend on him.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not staying.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I got angry,” Brett said.
“I know how that works. As you said, let it go.”
* * *
“OWEN, I SHOULDN’T be out here.” Emma looked over the Halloween festival booths half set up on the courthouse lawn. “I haven’t been doing much in town. I bought a stroller. I work at the library and coffee shop.”
“Just occupy yourself. They need help with the judging stand. I won’t be long. Look—over there—Marcy Harrigan with the balloons. I’ll bet she could use some help.”
“But what if she thinks I shoved your father down Nan’s stairs?”
“Tell her to mind her own business. I find that works well.”
“I’d rather walk home and finish cleaning the kitchen cabinets.”
“I’ve seen you work with tools,” Owen said. “We don’t have Noah’s clinic yet, and I don’t trust him to do stitches on you.”
“Funny.” She had no choice. She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll do it.”
“I can introduce you to Marcy.”
“I’ve known her since kindergarten,” Emma said, marching toward one of the old friends who had plenty of reason to think the worst of her. Emma’s mother had preyed on Marcy’s father, too.
She wove between running children and snatched up blowing papers. The papers she slid into the rubbish barrel beside her former friend.