by Meg Maxwell
“Your daddy’s right. You know what? The last time I saw my mom, she made me breakfast before school—sourdough toast with apple butter. And then she and my dad got into a car accident and I never saw them again. So anytime I miss my mom, I make myself some sourdough toast with apple butter, and I feel her with me.”
“That’s how I feel when I wear my green pants,” Lucy said. “That’s my mama,” she added, pointing at a photograph on top of the dresser.
Annabel stared at a photo of Lorna Dunkin, beautiful Lorna Dunkin, holding Lucy as a baby. Lucy looked so much like her dad, but she had her mother’s eye color and the elfin chin.
“You guys coming?” West called from downstairs.
“Coming, Daddy!” Lucy shouted.
Annabel smiled at Lucy. “Guess we’d better head down. Want to wear your green pants?”
“I want to wear my orange pants,” Lucy said, taking out a pair of pumpkin-colored leggings. “With this shirt,” she added, grabbing a bright pink tank top with a comical sea lion on the front. “My dad bought these for me when he went to a cow sale last week in Austin.”
Lucy changed out of her top and skirt and put them in her hamper, then slid on the tank top and leggings and slipped her feet into red sneakers.
“I can understand why these clothes are special to you, since your dad got them for you on a trip. See these earrings?” Annabel titled her head. “My dad bought the same pair for me and my two sisters the last Christmas we had together. I love wearing them.”
Lucy nodded and handed Annabel a sparkly hair band. “Will you make me a ponytail?”
Annabel gathered Lucy’s beautiful ringlets and in seconds had her hair in a high ponytail. “There.”
Lucy stared at Annabel for a long moment. “Oh, I forgot—thank you.”
Annabel grinned at her. Nana would be proud. Maybe not of the mismatched clothes, but the little girl was a dear and Annabel realized that Lucy had her heart already, just a few hours into this stepmother business. What would it be like in a few days? Weeks? Months? There would come a time when West had learned what he needed to satisfy the Dunkins and Annabel would be expected to leave.
As Lucy slid her little hand into hers, Annabel realized she’d better be very careful with how much she let these people—West and Lucy—into her heart. As if she could control it.
* * *
When West, Annabel and Lucy got back to the house after a tour of the barn for Annabel, Annabel suggested a cooking lesson for the two of them, and Lucy was so excited that West gave up on the idea of grilling burgers, his go-to dinner. For a minute there, he’d actually forgotten that he didn’t have to figure out dinner, he didn’t have to fire up the grill for burgers that were either too pink inside or burned. Annabel was here, Annabel was his wife, Annabel would be making dinner, something delicious and healthy.
With Lucy all washed up and standing on her step stool, Annabel announced they were making chicken saltimbocca, which involved spinach, prosciutto and Parmesan, with a side of rosemary roast potatoes. As he cut up the potatoes, following a recipe Annabel gave him, he loved watching Annabel and Lucy interact, his daughter asking if spinach would really make her stronger (yes, per Annabel), what “poshoot” was and how to say it, and how patient and kind Annabel was to the little girl. As he coated the potatoes with seasoning and then got them on a baking sheet, he couldn’t help noticing that Lucy seemed to adore her stepmother, hanging on her every word. And Annabel let Lucy do a lot, rolling up the chicken with its stuffing and securing with toothpicks, Lucy’s favorite part. West found himself paying attention, watching how Annabel adjusted the heat and kept checking for doneness. But of course he’d forgotten about the potatoes and rushed over to the stove to check on them, sure they’d be burned until Annabel pointed out the timer she’d set when he put them in the oven. They still had ten minutes to go. And when he took out the tray, his roasted rosemary potatoes looked and smelled so delicious he forked one, blew on it to cool it and gobbled it up, earning himself a laugh from his wife and daughter.
His wife.
West looked over at Annabel as she and Lucy were cleaning up the island. She wasn’t really his wife, even if she was legally, and he’d do well to remember that. He hadn’t thought enough about how close she and Lucy might get. After one day together, his daughter thought Annabel hung the moon. What would their relationship be like after a few months?
Maybe he should call a halt to the bonding, try to keep things a bit more...what? Was he supposed to tell Annabel to be standoffish with his daughter? Of course not. So how could he protect Lucy from having her heart broken when Annabel left?
He felt like a damned fool. The whole point of this was to save his family, keep Lucy with him. Now he was setting her up for a broken heart? Why the hell hadn’t he thought this through?
He felt Annabel watching him and turned away. Somehow he’d get through dinner and then he and his wife would need to talk about how they were going to save Lucy from themselves.
* * *
With Lucy long asleep, the kitchen spotless and Annabel zonked, she finally had to head upstairs to bed. Her and West’s bed. A little while ago he’d said he was going to the barn to check on the calves again.
When she walked into the bedroom, a rectangular room dominated by a king-size bed with an iron headboard, she noticed something new on the double wooden dresser across from the bed. A photograph that hadn’t been there when she woke up that morning.
Their wedding picture. One of the selfies West had taken.
She picked up the silver frame, taking in her smile, which looked so genuine. You’re happy because you’re in love, she knew. And because you just married the guy, albeit for reasons that had little to do with love.
Or a lot. If she hadn’t loved West, cared deeply about him, she wouldn’t have married him, not even to save Hurley’s. She would have found another way.
“I thought the wedding photo was necessary,” West said as he came into the bedroom. “I printed it out this afternoon. Makes this all seem more real, don’t you think?”
“Well, we are really married,” she pointed out, suddenly feeling...deflated.
He walked over and looked at the photo, then headed to the window and stared out at the inky night. “I know. And as we were saying our good-nights to Lucy, I couldn’t stop thinking about how this is going to affect her.” He turned to face Annabel, his expression grim. “When it’s time for you to go, I mean. I’d been so focused on saving my family that I didn’t consider how she’d feel about you, what having a stepmother would really mean to her.” He shook his head. “God, I keep messing up. One mistake after another.”
She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “One thing at a time, West. You had to deal with an immediate threat and you dealt with it.”
He stiffened for a moment, and she pulled her hand away, feeling like a fool. Why did she keep touching him when he clearly didn’t want her to?
He looked at her, and she thought he was going to say something, but he moved to the bed and dropped down, his head in his hands. “I guess.”
Buck up, Annabel. He needs you right now, so forget your knotted-up heart. She sucked in a breath. “No ‘I guess,’ West. That’s exactly what you did and it was necessary. Look, I’m not entirely sure about this, but perhaps we should take steps so that Lucy and I don’t get too close. I can be more of a live-in sitter than a—”
“Mother?”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Earlier, when she’d helped Lucy get dressed, she felt like a mother for the first time in her life—and she worried that with her luck in the romance department, she’d never know that feeling. She loved talking to Lucy about her favorite things, about her mother, putting her hair into a ponytail. She loved teaching her to cook, watching Lucy sprinkle the Parmesan cheese onto the
slices of prosciutto.
This is all part of motherhood, she’d thought then, as she talked to Lucy about her green pants, as she reminded her to wash up for cooking and again for dinner. As she read Lucy three bedtime stories tonight because she enjoyed it so much, watching the little girl’s eyes flutter closed, her heart pinging when West came in and kissed his daughter’s forehead.
“I love you, Daddy,” Lucy had said, half-asleep, her arm around her beloved Eeyore. “And I love An—”
Lucy had fallen asleep before she could finish the sentence, but the look West had given her wasn’t “Aw, isn’t that sweet that she loves her new stepmother?”
It was one of trepidation, flat-out fear.
Ah. This was where he was coming from. Now she understood. He was looking out for his daughter and rightly so.
And without knowing it, he was looking out for Annabel too. She was a stand-in, that was all. It wasn’t fair to let Lucy get attached to her just as it wasn’t fair for her to get attached to Lucy—they would be very hurt when it came time for Annabel to go.
He got up and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Maybe you should keep working at Hurley’s so you can’t be around as much. I don’t know.” He paced to the windows, letting his head drop back. “No, that’s just as wrong. It’s still playing a damned game.”
“Then let’s just do what feels right,” she said. “Always. And sometimes that’s only something you can know in the moment.” Really, Annabel had no idea what she was doing, but this was the truest thing she knew.
He looked at her, his expression brightening. “Yeah. Let’s just do what feels right.”
“Which is your side?” she asked, gesturing at the bed.
He pointed. “Closest to the door. I get up before dawn, so that’s probably better anyway.”
She stared at the bed. “Well, I guess I’ll turn in.”
“Me too,” he said.
She bit her lip and went over to the dresser, where he’d cleared a few drawers for her earlier that afternoon. She pulled out her yoga pants and a T-shirt.
He waited, as though expecting her to strip right then and there. Then he seemed to realize she wanted some privacy. “Oh. Right. I’ll, uh, go check on Lucy.”
When he came back, she was under the covers on the far side of the big bed. The quilt was soft and comfortable and she pulled it up to her chin.
“Everything okay?”
He nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. She could hear him removing his jeans. Then he was lying down on his back, staring up at the ceiling the way she was.
They’d decided to keep things platonic and that was the right thing to do. For both of them. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d undressed her in their hotel room, how he’d taken her hands and stretched them up over her head, how he’d kissed every inch of her. She closed her eyes, remembering, wishing things were different. But how could they be?
West shifted. Then shifted again. Then fluffed his pillow and punched it and refluffed it. Then he was back to staring at the ceiling. Did he want her too? He had on their wedding night. Unless, as he’d told her, half a glass of champagne and the emotion of the day got to him. Plus, a naked woman in his bed and all that.
“Awkward, huh?” he said.
“Just a little.”
But then she heard the pitter-patter of four feet and suddenly Daisy was on the bed, finding a spot right between them. She spun around a few times, digging at the quilt with her paws and her nose, then settled like a lump.
West laughed, heartily, and so did she. “Well, good night, then.”
“Good night,” she whispered, wanting to smile and cry at the same time.
Chapter Nine
When Annabel woke up on Monday morning, she decided to make “let’s just do what feels right in the moment” her new motto, since she’d never been responsible for getting a child ready for school before.
Lucy had taken a bubble bath the night before, so when Annabel heard Lucy’s alarm clock go off, a song from the movie Frozen, she went into Lucy’s room to find the little girl already out of bed and serving tea to the robot, stuffed big Bird and her Eeyore. For fifteen minutes they’d played tea, and then Annabel let her know it was time to get dressed.
“What’s today again?” Lucy asked. “Monday, right?”
Annabel nodded.
“On Mondays, Nana picks me up from school, so I should probably wear something Nana likes. She gets kind of mad if I’m wearing play clothes.”
“Well, why don’t you pick something out of your closet, then?” Annabel said, figuring that would be a good compromise.
“This!” Lucy said, putting on an adorable pink and white cotton dress with eyelet trim. It was pretty but not fussy. “Should I wear my pink sneakers to match? Nana likes when I match.”
“Sounds good to me,” Annabel said.
They headed into the bathroom for Lucy to wash up. Annabel dampened her hands and neatened Lucy’s ringlets, giving them a little fluff.
Lucy beamed up at her. “I’m so starving.”
“Let’s go make some scrambled eggs and toast with a side of fruit salad. Sound good? We’ll make some for your dad too.”
But when they got into the kitchen, the smell of bacon frying told her that West was already making breakfast. He had the folder of breakfast recipes open on the island, a carton of eggs and the bread and the bacon and butter a jumble with plates and utensils.
“The bacon is done a little too early, since the eggs aren’t ready, but hey, I didn’t burn the bacon,” he said with a smile. He stepped over to give Lucy a kiss on her head. “Thirty more seconds or so,” he added, stirring the eggs, “and voilà. Done.” He slid the eggs onto a platter and set it down on the table next to the plate of bacon. The toaster oven dinged and a plate of toast followed.
“Wow,” Annabel said. “Everything looks really good.” Okay, the bacon was actually overdone, as were the eggs, and the toast would be cold by the time he got it buttered and on a plate. But still, for West, this was a great start.
West bowed, making Lucy laugh. He made her a plate, adding some cherries to the side. “I had the best teacher.”
“Annabel made my hair look nice,” Lucy said, taking a bite of bacon.
“You look lovely,” West said, eyeing her outfit. “You remembered you have girls’ day with Nana after school. Good job,” he added, high-fiving Lucy.
“Annabel’s coming too, right?” Lucy said. “She’s a girl.”
Annabel froze. Oh God no. “Well, I think girls’ day is special time for you and your grandmother.”
“I guess,” Lucy said after a bite of scrambled egg.
“I made your favorite snack for today,” West said, pointing to the brown bag on the kitchen counter next to Lucy’s backpack. “A mini bagel and cream cheese. And I packed some of these cherries I know you love.”
Annabel glanced at him. “I would have done that.”
“Well, I have to learn sometime, like you said, right?”
As Lucy smiled around a mouthful of toast, Annabel helped herself to coffee. So far, this was going well. She didn’t feel out of place here. Lucy was adorable and made Annabel’s first official morning as a stepmother on duty pretty darned easy—as did West. She froze, realizing how easy he had made it; he’d cooked a decent breakfast, even if the timing was a bit off. He’d packed a good snack for Lucy and drawn a smiley face on the bag. If he kept this up, he wouldn’t need her anymore. Sure, they’d have to give it a good few months before they could go their separate ways. But it was clear that West wanted to be the father Lucy needed, wanted to cook for her, help her dress, take good care of her. He’d work overtime on that; breakfast was a case in point.
And soon she’d be back at the ap
ricot Victorian.
“Let’s get you to the bus stop,” West said, glancing at the clock.
“You too, Annabel,” Lucy said, taking her hand. “And Daisy. She comes every morning.”
They headed out, the beagle sniffing her way ahead of them. Just a short way up the road, the big yellow school bus stopped and Lucy raced on, waving at them from her seat. Annabel waved too, her heart in her throat. On the way back, her cell phone rang—an unfamiliar number.
She shrugged at West.
“Hello?”
“Annabel, it’s Raina Dunkin. How are you, dear?”
“Just fine. How are you?” She turned to West. Raina, she mouthed, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Every Monday I pick up Lucy from school and we have a girls’ day. We stop at the smoothie place, do a little shopping up and down Blue Gulch Street, spend a little time at the library. I’d love for you to join us.”
Every Monday? she almost choked out. She thought of Lucy, so hopeful that she’d go, so of course she had to say yes.
“So nice of you to invite me, Raina. I’ll meet you both in front of the school.”
When she put her phone back in her pocket, West put his arm around her shoulder. “If you survive today, Raina with no buffer—well, other than a six-year-old—you can survive anything.”
Even the shattered heart I’m in for? she wondered.
* * *
By noon, the last of the calves were fed and West was about to go back to the house to practice his chicken salad when his cell phone rang. Jonathan McNeal. West had met Jonathan at Lucy’s grief counseling meetings last year. For a couple of months after Lorna died, West had taken Lucy to the sessions for children; the faces of all those kids who’d lost parents, siblings, grandparents, caretakers were heartbreaking. The sessions had helped Lucy, though. She’d gotten comfort from listening to other kids talk about their loss, and twice she’d spoken up about her mother being in heaven and how every time she wished on a star she wished her mother could come back even though I know she can’t cuz she’s in heaven now. West’s eyes would well up and he’d have to blink hard to clear them. More than once, Jonathan McNeal, who’d lost his older son and brought his younger boy to the sessions, had handed him a tissue; West never thought to bring them for himself.