by Gina Wilkins
Dressed in a striped tank top, khaki shorts and heavy leather sandals, Jamie ran a hand through her short hair and applied a light coating of lip gloss, the full extent of her primping before she entered the store Friday afternoon. She bumped into three people before she could even claim a shopping cart. All of them wanted to talk about what had happened at the swimming pool earlier in the week.
She was exasperated, but not particularly surprised, to learn that the incident had become rather exaggerated in the frequent retelling—particularly her part in it.
“Risking your own life to save that boy,” silver-haired Mildred Scott said in breathless admiration. “You should be given some sort of award for heroism, Jamie.”
Gripping the rickety cart she’d managed to snag, Jamie answered with strained patience. “My life was never at risk, Mrs. Scott. The water wasn’t all that deep. All I did was lift the boy out.”
Clearly preferring the more interesting version she’d heard, Mrs. Scott smiled knowingly and patted Jamie’s arm. “You’re being modest. That’s very becoming of you, but I still think I’ll ask Chief Davenport about that award. Or maybe the mayor.”
“Mrs. Scott, I would really rather you didn’t—”
Without waiting to be dissuaded, the older woman bustled away, as if to act while the idea was still fresh. Jamie sighed, shook her head in resignation and pushed her cart toward the health-and-beauty aids section of the store. A trio of teenagers emerged from the cosmetics aisle, their hands filled with rainbow-colored nail polishes, eye shadows and lip glosses. “Hi, Ms. Flaherty,” they chimed in unison, instantly adopting the tone every kid seems to use around a schoolteacher.
Though she knew she didn’t particularly look like a teacher at the moment, Jamie found herself automatically answering in her own “schoolmarm” voice. “Hello, girls. Enjoying your vacation so far?”
They all nodded eagerly, then hurried away, giggling and whispering. Feeling suddenly years older, Jamie tossed a box of facial tissues into her cart. Funny how age was relative, she mused as she moved toward the toothpaste section. To old Mrs. Scott, Jamie was still just a girl. But to the teenagers, her twenty-nine years must seem almost ancient.
Discount philosophy, she thought with a wry smile. How appropriate for her current surroundings. She added dental floss to her cart and headed for cleaning supplies.
The store was a noisy place. Frequent announcements sounded over the intercom, dozens of conversations swirled around her, mothers scolded whining children and several babies cried in shrill stereo. Jamie often enjoyed spending time just people-watching in places like this, but today she had quite a few other things she wanted to get done. She grabbed a spray bottle of glass cleaner from a shelf and tossed it on top of her other selections.
Two more items on her list, and she could escape.
A sudden tug at the hem of her shorts made her glance downward. She raised her eyebrows in surprise when she recognized the little blond boy gazing somberly up at her. “Well, hello, Sam.”
“Hello,” he replied without returning her smile. He kept his big blue eyes trained unwaveringly on her face.
“Are you here with your dad?” Jamie looked around for Trevor before turning her gaze back to Sam.
The boy shook his head. “I’m with Grandma.”
“Where is she?”
“Over there.” Sam pointed vaguely to one side.
“Does she know where you are?”
The boy shrugged, obviously unconcerned.
Funny child, Jamie thought, studying his serious little face. She assumed he laughed occasionally, but she had yet to hear it. He gazed up at her as if waiting for her to do or say something interesting, making her feel oddly self-conscious. “Um…so how are you, Sam?”
“Good,” he answered, then fell silent again, still looking expectantly up at her.
She was thinking about bursting into a song-and-tap-dance number—just to keep from disappointing him—when Bobbie McBride’s familiar voice came from behind her. “There you are, Sam! Why did you run off from me like…Oh, hello, Jamie.”
Feeling much the way the teenagers who’d greeted her earlier had probably felt, Jamie responded politely to her former teacher. “Hello, Mrs. McBride.”
Bobbie shook a finger at her. “I’ve told you to call me Bobbie. We’re colleagues now. And I still owe you a big debt of gratitude for rescuing my grandson.”
Since Bobbie had already telephoned Jamie to express her thanks, Jamie saw no need to go over it all again now. To change the subject, she smiled at the rosy-cheeked toddler in the seat of Bobbie’s shopping cart. “Hi, Abbie. How are you today?”
“Moo,” the tot replied clearly.
“We’ve been playing the animal-sounds game,” Bobbie explained. “Abbie just told you what a cow says.”
“Of course she did. That’s very good, Abbie.”
The little girl laughed and clapped her hands. Her more serious-natured brother tugged again at Jamie’s shorts. “I got a new book,” he said when he had her attention.
“Did you? What is it?”
Sam reached into his grandmother’s cart. “This one.”
“Berenstein Bears.” Jamie nodded approval. “I’ve always enjoyed their stories. This looks like a good one.”
“It’s about Brother Bear and Sister Bear spending the night at their grandmother’s house,” Sam volunteered.
“Yes, I see. I’m sure you’ll like it.” She gave the book back to him. “Do you like to read, Sam?”
Bobbie, who wasn’t known to be quiet for long, answered for her grandson. “Sam’s always got a book in his hands—just like his daddy when he was a boy.”
“All that reading certainly paid off for Trevor,” she murmured. Jamie had once considered Trevor McBride the smartest boy at Honoria High. She’d also thought him the most attractive guy in Honoria. Remembering the way he’d looked the other night, with his neatly brushed dark blond hair, his serious blue eyes, his clean-shaven, strongly chiseled chin and cheekbones, she reminded herself that she hadn’t changed her opinion about either of those things.
Bobbie abruptly changed the subject. “I’d like to have you to dinner. Our way of thanking you again for coming to Sam’s rescue.”
“That’s very kind of you, but it isn’t—”
“Are you free tomorrow evening? Seven o’clock?”
“Well, I—”
“Good. We’ll look forward to seeing you then. Come along, Sam. We have to be going.”
Sam was still gazing up at Jamie. “You’re coming to dinner at Grandma’s house?”
Jamie couldn’t help wondering if anyone had ever successfully turned Bobbie down. “It seems that I am.”
“Will you sit by me?”
“I would be delighted,” she assured him.
Bobbie looked from her grandson to Jamie. “He certainly seems taken with you. He’s usually shy with strangers.”
“Sam and I are pals, aren’t we, Sammy?”
He nodded and Jamie was pleased to see a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Maybe she would even hear him laugh before the dinner party ended.
“Moo!” Abbie shouted gleefully, unwilling to be ignored for long.
Pushing the cart, Bobbie instructed Sam to follow her to the checkouts. He did, but he looked over his shoulder at Jamie until he was out of sight.
“Odd child,” she murmured, shaking her head in bemusement. She supposed he came by it honestly. The McBrides were a notoriously offbeat family, though Bobbie and her husband Caleb seemed to be the least scandal-prone of the bunch.
EXPECTING BOBBIE TO ANSWER her doorbell the next evening, Jamie was caught momentarily off guard when Trevor opened the door, instead. She recovered quickly, regarding him with a faint smile she knew he would have trouble interpreting. “Hello, handsome.”
She had always enjoyed flustering him, which probably explained why she tried to do so as often as possible. She figured it was as good a way as any to
keep him from realizing how often he flustered her.
She had suffered such a huge crush on him when she’d been a teenager, a crush she’d hoped at times that he shared. She had made no secret of her attraction to him, and she’d done everything possible to get his attention. It had shattered her secret daydreams when he had told her on the night before his graduation that he wouldn’t be seeing her anymore. He’d said they were too different—in age, in goals, in everything—and that there was no reason for them to pursue anything that couldn’t go anywhere. He had graduated and gone off to the East Coast for college and law school, and then had settled in Washington, D.C., with a wife from a suitably aristocratic Virginia family.
Even she didn’t know quite how she felt about him now, though her stomach still fluttered when he looked at her in that serious, searching way of his. Much the same way his son looked at her, she thought suddenly, realizing now why she’d reacted so strongly to young Sam.
A lot of things had changed since the last time she and Trevor had been together. The three-year age difference no longer mattered, and the very different career paths they had chosen to pursue had somehow led them back to the same place. She was becoming increasingly curious to find out what else had changed since he had so awkwardly let her down before.
Trevor chose to acknowledge her teasing greeting with a rather formal, “Good evening, Jamie. Please come in. Mother’s in the kitchen putting finishing touches to dinner, but she’ll be out soon.”
She sauntered past him, giving an extra little flip to the vented skirt of her short, sleeveless sheath dress—just in case he was looking at her legs. She could hear several voices coming from the living room, and she turned to Trevor to stall for a moment before joining the others. “It was nice of your mother to invite me to dinner.”
“Are you kidding? You’re the family hero. Mom would have liked to have a parade in your honor, but she settled for a dinner party.”
Jamie wrinkled her nose. “I tried to tell her it wasn’t necessary to make such a big deal of this. I really didn’t do anything all that spectacular.”
“You saved my son,” he said gently. “If Mom had insisted on a parade, I’d have gladly helped her plan it.”
Had she been prone to blushing, she would have been beet red. Instead, she reverted to dry humor. “But would you lead the band? You’d look really cute wearing one of those tall hats and holding a baton.”
He gave her a look. “As grateful as I am to you, there are limits.”
She laughed, pleased that she’d provoked him into acting more natural. She really didn’t want to spend the entire evening being treated like some sort of movie heroine—especially by Trevor.
She would just have to do her best to make him look at her in a different light, she mused.
3
CALEB MCBRIDE WAS the first to greet Jamie when Trevor escorted her into the living room. She smiled when he approached with a look of warm welcome on his pleasant face. Aware that there were other adults and several children in the room, she concentrated solely on her host for the moment.
Probably in his early sixties, Caleb had perfected the image of small-town Southern lawyer—genial, personable, courteous, but tough when he needed to be. Though she didn’t know him very well, Jamie had always liked him, even as she suspected that he was as consummate an actor as any she’d met on stage. Perhaps it was purely circumstance, but Caleb couldn’t have played his role in Honoria more perfectly if he’d followed a detailed script.
“It’s good to see you, Jamie,” he said, taking her hand in both of his. “After what you did, you will always be an honored guest in our home.”
She hoped she wouldn’t have to spend the entire evening trying to respond to comments like that. Deciding distraction was her best defense, she gave him a cheeky smile and said, “It’s always good to see you, too, Mr. McBride. I swear, you get better-looking every time I see you. If you weren’t married…”
He chuckled, obviously flattered. “If I weren’t married, I would still be twice your age.”
Someone tugged on her skirt. Jamie looked down.
“I’m not married,” Sam assured her, gazing seriously up at her.
Everyone in the room laughed, except Jamie, who didn’t want to hurt the boy’s feelings—and Trevor, she noted peripherally. “Still playing the field, are you, Sam? That’s understandable from a handsome young guy like you.”
Though he didn’t appear to quite understand Jamie’s comment, Sam seemed satisfied to have momentarily claimed her attention. He stood close to her side when she turned to greet the others. She wasn’t particularly surprised to see the police chief, Wade Davenport, and his wife, Emily. Emily was Caleb’s niece, and had been a year behind Jamie in school. She had been the only McBride of her generation who had stayed and settled in Honoria instead of moving on in search of greener pastures. Trevor, of course, was the only one who had returned after moving away—for reasons Jamie couldn’t help being curious about.
“How are you, Emily?” she asked.
Holding a baby no more than a few months old in her arms, the pretty, blue-eyed blonde beamed with visible contentment. “I’m fine, thank you, Jamie. You know my husband, Wade, of course?”
Jamie glanced at the solidly built, ruggedly attractive, thirty-something cop. “Hello, Chief. Caught any dangerous criminals lately?”
He gave her a lazy smile. “Not since I stopped you for speeding last week.”
Hearing what might have been a faint sigh from Trevor, Jamie pouted for effect. “I was only going five miles over the speed limit.”
“You were doing sixty in a forty-five zone and you know it,” Wade retorted. “I let you off easy by only citing you for five-miles-over. Next time, I won’t be so generous.”
“Wade, Jamie just saved my grandson’s life,” Caleb chided. “Is it really necessary to threaten her this evening?”
“It wasn’t a threat—just a warning.”
Jamie smiled and stuck out her hand to him. “Warning heeded. I’ll watch my speed from now on. And no hard feelings, Chief.”
“Of course not.” Wade shook her hand, then waved toward the red-haired lad sitting on the couch and playing a handheld electronic game. “This is my son, Clay. Boy, remember your manners, will you? Come shake hands with Ms. Flaherty.”
Clay Davenport, whom Jamie judged to be around eleven, somewhat reluctantly set the game aside and rose. “Hello, Ms. Flaherty,” he said, gravely shaking Jamie’s hand.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Clay.”
“Ms. Flaherty’s aunt was your fourth-grade teacher,” Wade informed his son.
Jamie’s smile deepened. “I think my aunt Ellen has taught every fourth-grader in Honoria for the past couple of generations.”
Clay shook his head. “My friend Pete had Mrs. Simmons.”
“She didn’t mean it literally, Clay,” Emily murmured, laying an affectionate hand on her stepson’s shoulder while cradling her infant daughter in her other arm. “How is your aunt, Jamie?”
“I talked to her yesterday. You know she and Uncle Bill are spending the summer in North Carolina? They love it there.”
“I’m happy to hear it. I understand she’s retiring after this coming school year.”
“Yes, they’re thinking about relocating permanently to a condo in North Carolina.”
“They’ll be missed here.”
Jamie was admiring baby Claire when Bobbie bustled into the room, immediately taking over with her brusque, authoritative manner. “Hello, Jamie. Glad you could make it. Dinner’s about ready. All I have to do is set everything out. Give me five minutes. Trevor, I think I heard Abbie fussing.”
Trevor nodded and moved toward the doorway. “I was just about to go check on her.”
“I’ll help you get dinner on the table, Aunt Bobbie,” Emily offered, handing the baby to her husband.
Jamie stepped forward. “Is there anything I can do?”
Bobbie shook her h
ead. “Thank you, dear, but you’re our guest this evening. Visit with the men for a few minutes and we’ll call everyone when it’s time to eat.”
Jamie was left in the living room with Caleb, Sam, Wade, Clay and baby Claire. Sam still stood beside her, staring up at her in a way that reminded her of Eddie, the funny little terrier on the TV series Frasier. She was almost tempted to pat his head.
Caleb waved a hand toward the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable, Jamie. Can I get you anything to drink before dinner?”
“No, thank you.” She settled on one end of the comfortably overstuffed couch. Sam scrambled onto the cushion beside her. Caleb sank into a worn-looking recliner that was obviously “his” chair, while Wade chose a wooden rocking chair for himself and his daughter. Clay sat cross-legged on the floor, his attention fully reclaimed by his electronic game.
Never one to savor silence, Jamie spoke up. “How are Tara and Trent, Mr. McBride? It’s been ages since I’ve seen either of them.”
Caleb seemed pleased that she’d asked about his other two offspring. “Tara and a partner have a small law practice in Atlanta. Tara’s married to an unorthodox private investigator—Blake Fox—and they’re expecting their first child soon.”
Though Tara had been a few years ahead of her in school and they hadn’t known each other well, Jamie wasn’t surprised to hear that Tara was a successful attorney. She’d been an overachiever—just like her brother, Jamie thought as Trevor came back into the room carrying little Abbie. He sat on the opposite end of the couch, on the other side of Sam, balancing the toddler on his knee.
“Trent,” Caleb continued, as if there had been no interruption, “graduated from the air force academy. He’s training to be a fighter pilot, stationed in California right now, but he’s hoping for a transfer to Aviano, Italy, soon.”
“I doubt that his mother likes that.”
Caleb chuckled. “You’ve got that right. She complains frequently that all her children moved away from Honoria as soon as they graduated high school. She’s delighted, of course, that Trevor has come home to us so she can see the grandkids as often as she likes.”