Taken from the CN Tower, Renee assumed, her heart turning over at the sight of the little girl.
“That’s my daughter,” Zach said, catching the direction of Renee’s curious gaze. “Tricia. She’s eight.”
“She’s adorable,” Renee said past the sudden thickness in her throat. Why did this happen to her every time she saw a girl of that age?
Please, Lord, help me concentrate. Help me let go. It’s over.
Her prayer eased her heartbeat back to normal, then she looked back at Zach. “How does she like living in Hartley Creek?” she asked, determined to have an ordinary conversation. “I imagine it’s quite a change from Toronto.”
“She loves it. Especially because we have a place to keep our horses that’s closer than where we boarded them in Ontario.”
“So you and your daughter ride?”
“Not as often as we’d like, but I’m hoping that will change once we’re settled in. Tricia and I are still trying to find a rhythm here, and I’m trying not to worry about her all the time. Hard to break old habits,” he said.
She caught an edge of tension in his voice and wondered once again about his situation. Rumor had it that his wife had died almost a year ago. That was why he’d moved back to Hartley Creek.
“But enough about that.” Zach flipped open the manila folder and pulled out a piece of paper, obviously getting back to business.
She couldn’t help a niggling regret. Zach seemed easy to talk to, and she had enjoyed the ordinary conversation they had shared, even for a moment. It had been a while since she’d had a normal interaction with a man. Any guy she had dated since the accident had had to deal with the reality that Renee’s mother was her priority.
“So you want to sell your business?” Zach was saying, his voice anchoring her back to the present.
Renee nodded. “Yes, the buyer, Cathy, is eager to get the final paperwork done and so am I. I’m assuming that’s why your father called me here?”
Zach sat back in his chair. He wore a white button-down shirt with a tie, but the tie was loosened, and the cuffs of the sleeves were rolled up. He looked casually disheveled yet had an air of command, which felt oddly reassuring.
“Unfortunately, we can’t sign off on the sale just yet.”
Renee felt cold bloom in her chest. “Why not?” Things had to get moving. Her mother’s appointments to see the therapist were scheduled. They needed the money from this sale before the treatment began, and she didn’t want Ned and Cathy to change their minds.
“There’s been a builder’s lien filed against the property about three days ago.”
“What? By whom? The renovations on the store were finished two months ago.” Fixing up the back rooms of the store had cost her more than she had budgeted for, but it had been a condition of the sale, which had been delayed a couple of times already. “I paid Benny Alpern in full for his work.”
“Benny was the general contractor?” Zach asked, glancing down at the file again.
“That’s correct,” Renee said, trying not to let panic overwhelm her as she leaned forward. She’d had a hard enough time just coming to this office—now things wouldn’t be finalized today? And, worse, the sale would be put off? What would happen to her mother? The clock was ticking, and she was running out of time.
Renee drew in a long, slow breath, forcing herself to remain calm.
“The lien was put on by an electrician named Freddy Peckham. He claims the general contractor, Benny Alpern, owed him some money, and Benny claims he doesn’t. Neither seems to want to budge.”
Renee dropped back in her chair, frustrated. “So I can’t sell this property until they figure it out.”
“Sorry. Afraid not.” His gave her a crooked smile, which didn’t help her fragile equilibrium.
“But I have to sell the property soon,” she said. “I need the money for my mother’s—” She stopped herself there. Zach Truscott was a virtual stranger. He didn’t need to know the complicated issues of her life.
She folded her arms, her thoughts chasing each other around her tired head. There was too much to think about and not enough emotional reserve to deal with it.
She thought of her mother, confined to a wheelchair, and the therapy program they’d heard about that could potentially allow her to walk again.
The therapist was in Vancouver, well over a thousand miles away from Hartley Creek. The program would take a year, and to pay for it, Renee was selling her scrapbook store.
But now?
“How much money does Freddy need?” Renee said, trying to find a solution.
“According to the lien he filed, about ten thousand dollars.”
“What?” Renee shot up in her chair. “Is he kidding? I can’t believe he did that much work on the store reno.”
Zach glanced down at the file again, the light casting his face in shadows. “He’s claiming he wasn’t reimbursed for work or materials.”
“Well, he’s wrong.” Renee shook her head. “I’ll have to talk to him about that.” She didn’t look forward to that. Freddy was a strange duck. She hadn’t wanted him doing the renovations on the store, but Benny had said he was good. And cheap. Obviously not so cheap after all.
She kneaded the bridge of her nose, trying to settle her ragged emotions, wishing time would stop its steady wheeling.
The past few months had been a marathon. Attending doctor’s and therapist’s appointments for her mother, making the hard decisions to sell a business she had poured her heart and soul into since its humble beginnings.
Now she had Freddy to deal with, plus Ned and Cathy Meckle, the already-skittish future owners of the store, to placate.
“Are you okay, Ms. Albertson? Can I get you something to drink?” Zach’s worried voice yanked her out of her fog of anxious thoughts.
She looked up, surprised at the concern on his features. “I’m sorry. Just trying to figure out when I’ll have time to talk to Cathy Meckle.”
“I can deal with Freddy and Benny. As for Mrs. Meckle, don’t worry about her. She’s calling this afternoon. I can let her know what the problem is,” he said, a careful smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “We’ll take care of you.”
Renee held his steady gaze. The confidence and assurance in his voice eased her concern. “Thanks. That would be helpful,” she said, thankful for his thoughtfulness.
He’s getting paid to do this, a cynical voice reminded her.
But in spite of that, as she looked into his deep blue eyes, she felt a curious connection. A feeling that she would be, as he said, taken care of.
Then her cell phone vibrated, and with an apologetic look toward Zach, she pulled it out of her purse and glanced at it.
“Sorry. I have to take this,” she said. “It’s my mother.”
Zach held up his hand. “No problem. We’ll be in touch.”
She nodded, then touched the screen to answer the call as she exited Zach’s office.
“Hey, Mom. Are you okay?” Renee couldn’t stop the flicker of concern that always accompanied a phone call from her mother. Her pain had increased of late, and though she would never tell her, Renee knew. Could see it on her mother’s pinched mouth and her forced cheerfulness on the mornings when she’d had an especially restless night.
“Everything is all right,” her mother assured her. “I just wanted to know how your visit with Zach, I mean, Mr. Truscott, went.”
“Oh. Fine,” Renee said, waving a distracted hand toward Debbie, who waved back. “We’ll talk about it later.” She wasn’t sure how she would break the news about the possible postponement of the sale.
“Are you coming back to the store?”
“After I get some groceries,” she said, navigating the narrow stairs leading down to the street. “Is everything okay? I can come
now if you want.”
“No. I’m fine. Everything is just fine, honey.” Her mother’s voice held a cheerful note that, in spite of all the work and decisions piling up in Renee’s life the past few months, made the stress of selling the store and moving worthwhile. Ever since they started talking about the therapy program in Vancouver and the possibility that her mother would be able to walk again, she had been smiling more. Seemed happier.
“So I’ll see you later?” her mother asked.
“Hopefully in half an hour,” Renee said. She said goodbye and ended the call.
But as she stepped out into the street, a curious thought occurred to her.
How did her mother know she was meeting with Zach when she didn’t know herself until she got to the office?
* * *
Relax. Just relax. This is small-town British Columbia. Tricia is only ten minutes late. She is probably looking at something in a store window.
In spite of his thoughts, however, Zach’s fingers trembled as he punched in the numbers of his daughter’s cell phone, scanning the streets downtown for any sign of his eight-year-old daughter.
Finally she answered. “Hey, Daddy,” she chirped. “I can see you.”
Zach stopped, forcing his pounding heart to slow down. This wasn’t downtown Toronto. This was Hartley Creek, population seven thousand. She’s okay.
Of course, he didn’t know how okay she would be once he met up with her. She was supposed to have been in his office fifteen minutes ago.
“I can see you but you can’t see me,” Tricia taunted as he shot his gaze up and down the main street of the town, his eyes grazing over the brick buildings with their crenellated roofs and fancy brickwork looking for his daughter. In the distance he heard the rumble of the train approaching, then the warning wail of its horn. In a few seconds he wouldn’t be able to hear Tricia over the roar of the train. “Where are you?”
“I’m at Scrap Happy. It’s a fun, fun place, Daddy.”
Scrap Happy? That was Renee Albertson’s store.
He relaxed as the fear and worry that had turned his heart to a block of ice melted away. “So where is that?” he asked.
“Turn around, Dad.”
He turned, then saw his daughter waggling her fingers at him from behind a colorful window display of scrapbooks, cards, umbrellas and seashells, her blond hair catching the light from the display. Then he heard a woman’s voice call her and Tricia disappeared.
He shoved the door of the store open, the bell above the door tinkling out an erratic welcome.
He knew he was overreacting to her lateness, but ever since his wife, Molly, had been killed by a car only a block from their home, Zach had felt vulnerable and overprotective.
Especially because Tricia was supposed to have been with Molly that day.
His eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outside, and as they did, his gaze slipped past the carousels of stickers, rows of papers and shelves holding bottles of glitter, shiny paint and a rainbow assortment of ribbons and buttons.
Tricia, however, was nowhere in sight. Nor was Blythe, her babysitter.
He navigated his way through the shelves of scrapbooking supplies and finally found Tricia at the back of the store standing beside an older woman in a wheelchair. She looked to be about fifty, her graying hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, and when she turned to them, he caught a faint resemblance to Renee Albertson in her heart-shaped face and the upward tilt of her eyebrows. He guessed this was Renee’s mother. His father had mentioned that Mrs. Albertson had been in a car accident that had left her paralyzed.
Tricia’s grin almost split her face as she ran toward him, her hair streaming behind her. She grabbed his hand and pulled with a strength surprising for an eight-year-old.
“Come and see, Dad. This is the coolest thing,” she announced, dragging him toward Mrs. Albertson, who was looking over at him now with an expression of interest.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Truscott,” she said with a wide smile. “I’m glad to see you here.”
He looked over to Tricia, trying to keep his voice light and nonthreatening. “Honey, you’re supposed to come to the office right away after school.”
Tricia’s expression shifted. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see the store. Blythe said she would tell you.” Her lip quivered and she dropped her head in sorrow.
He felt instantly contrite. It wasn’t her fault he had overreacted. “It’s okay,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I was just worried.”
“Children do that to us, don’t they,” Mrs. Albertson said, looking up at him with a smile. “From the moment they’re born, they make us vulnerable and scared.”
Zach laughed lightly. “You can say that again.” He glanced down at Tricia, remembering all too well his feeling of utter helplessness when that tiny baby was placed in his arms.
And behind that a rush of love so full, he knew his life would never be the same.
Tricia tugged on his hand again. “Look at these cards,” Tricia was saying. “Aren’t they pretty? Renee teaches people how to make them. What do you think of it?”
Zach obediently glanced at the cards lying on the table beside Mrs. Albertson. “Very pretty,” he said, not sure what else he was supposed to say about the colorful stacks of paper and glitter. “Now we should go.”
“We could make some cards. Together.” Tricia looked up at him, and must have sensed his hesitation. “Don’t you think that would be fun?”
“That might not be your father’s idea of a good time,” a gentle but husky voice spoke out behind him.
Zach was surprised at the imperceptible lift Renee’s sudden presence created.
He turned to look at her as she came around the display of papers. Yesterday when she came to his office she wore her hair pulled back, a suit jacket, tailored shirt and pencil skirt, which, combined with her somewhat-reserved attitude, had given her an aloof air.
Today she wore a pink shirt, blue jeans and sandals. Her light brown hair was loose, falling around her heart-shaped face.
Today she looked softer, more feminine. More appealing.
He brushed aside his reaction. He was in no place emotionally to allow another person into his and Tricia’s lives. He pulled his attention back to his daughter.
“Where is Blythe?” Zach asked.
Renee waved a slender hand. “I was showing her some accents she could use on her scrapbook. I’ll go find her.”
As she spoke, Blythe appeared from behind the rack of paper, staring down at a package, as if reading the contents. Her dark hair stuck up in gelled spikes glistening in the overhead lights of the store, at odds with the plaid schoolgirl skirt and slouchy sweater she wore today. “Hey, sweetie, there you are,” she said, glancing over at Tricia. “We should go. Don’t want your dad to...”
Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Zach. “Hey, Mr. Truscott,” she said with an airy wave. “Did you get my message?”
Zach was momentarily taken aback. “What message?”
“That Tricia and I would be late today.” Blythe gave him a tentative smile. “I called your cell phone and left a message. Every time we walk by this store, Tricia wants to stop in, and today I said it was okay as long as it was okay with you. And then you didn’t call back and we were coming past and Tricia was pulling at my hand—”
“It’s okay,” he said, stopping her midgush. “Everything is fine.”
It wasn’t really, but he wasn’t getting into a discussion about Blythe’s responsibilities in front of strangers or the fact that he didn’t think to check his messages before imagining his daughter either lying injured on the street or in the hospital. He turned back to Tricia, who was leaning against Mrs. Albertson’s wheelchair. The sight of the little girl and the older woman caught at his heart. His own mother had d
ied when he was young, and Molly’s mother and father lived overseas. Tricia didn’t have a grandmother in her life.
“We should go, honey. I need to get back to work,” Zach told his daughter. “And I’m sure Renee and Mrs. Albertson have their own things to do.”
“Okay. I’ll go.” Tricia cast a wistful glance around the colorful store as if comparing it to her father’s dull office, then heaved a long-suffering sigh and trudged past Blythe out the store.
Zach hesitated a moment, and without knowing why, looked back at Renee and her mom, Brenda.
Renee was watching Tricia, her arms crossed over her chest, a curious mixture of fear and sorrow on her face. Then she turned her head, and as their eyes met, he felt it again. A connection. An awareness.
Then she turned and the moment faded away.
You’re a widower with a daughter who is still grieving, he reminded himself. You don’t need the mess of another relationship.
And definitely not someone like Renee, who, it seemed, had her own priorities.
ISBN: 9781460318959
Copyright © 2013 by Harlequin Books S.A.
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
The Boss's Bride (The Heart of Main Street) Page 19