A Family Affair: The Secret (3 page)

His mother smiled through her tears, touched his face. “I think I’ll run to the store now. You take your time out here, but don’t work too hard.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, made her way to the back porch, turning before she opened the door. “It doesn’t have to get finished in a day. There’s always tomorrow, or next week.” The smile spread, threatened to burst open. “Welcome home, Roman,” she said, seconds before she disappeared inside.

Home? Where was that? Or rather,
what
was that? A place? An emotion? A person? Hell if he knew. He might have a four-thousand-square-foot home in Chicago, with more artwork than a gallery, and he might hold lavish celebrations that boasted celebrities and who’s who, but that didn’t make it a home. He’d even added a wife—now an ex-wife—but still, it wasn’t a home. Maybe a child or two would have done it, made the place mean something, made the relationship with his wife mean more than the next “big” whatever: house, trip, car. Fill in the blank. But it wasn’t enough to keep Jess happy, and even if she hadn’t changed her mind about having kids, a change of heart that didn’t occur until
after
he put the ring on her finger, she wasn’t suited to parenthood. There was no room for ego and self-importance once a kid came along, and maybe that was one of the reasons his mother had been so against the wedding in the first place.

She’d known it wouldn’t last, and she’d been right. Three years of marriage wasn’t a lifetime, but damn close when you realized your mistake at the six-month mark. Then you were stuck, so you tried to pretend around the truth with lavish gifts, trips, parties, though none would be enough, not when the foundation wasn’t there. It had taken his mother one visit to realize Roman’s future wife wasn’t a foundation builder or a baby maker.

His friends told him his ex-wife had set her sights on an investment banker, Princeton educated, old money. Lots of it. They said there’d be a wedding before spring. Interesting that she was ready to jump back into the wedding ring when he’d rather get neutered than say “I do” again. At least for now, maybe for good. Relationships, especially bad ones, left scars, some so deep they pinched when a person took a deep breath. His and Jess’s relationship had been a bad one, based on lust, loneliness, and the need for excitement. Why not? He’d tried the full-out, head-over-heels in love routine when he was eighteen and what had it gotten him? Nothing but a hurt so deep he vowed to never love that much again.

And he hadn’t.

Angie Sorrento studied the crown molding in the dining room of the Heart Sent as Mimi Pendergrass, proprietor and mayor of Magdalena, New York, told her about the town and its residents.

“You’ve already met Miriam Desantro,” Mimi said, her voice a conspiratorial blend of humor and information. “Kind soul, good-natured, patient, so talented. Bakes the best banana nut bread you ever tasted, and I’ve tasted a few in my time.” Her husky laugh filled the room. “From the looks of you, I’d say you haven’t. We’ll fix that soon enough. Between me and Miriam, we’ll help you fill out that shirt and give you a nice little back end, too.”

“Uh…” Angie turned and spotted the mischief in Mimi’s blue gaze. Was she joking or serious?

Mimi Pendergrass tsk-tsked. “Are you one of those girls who doesn’t eat, and if she does counts every speck of food, even the parsley?”

“No. I’m one of those girls who eats everything, even the parsley they use as a garnish.” Angie grinned, shrugged. “Fast metabolism and genes, I guess.” Her father said the Sorrentos could eat two bowls of pasta with meatballs three times a week and never gain a pound. Now that was a gene worth keeping.

“I used to be as skinny as you, could eat whatever and however much I wanted.” Mimi’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, but it was pure pleasure. Then I had my first baby, and by the second, I couldn’t eat a carrot stick without putting on five pounds.” Another shake of her salt-and-pepper head. “Just you wait. You’ll see.”

Angie looked away, pretended great interest in the lace tablecloth covering the dining room table. At thirty-two, her chances of a baby were dwindling with each month that brought her closer to forty. And a husband? Good Lord,
that
was not going to happen, not when the only man she’d ever loved ditched her three days before the wedding. The untrustworthy, lying jerk. She didn’t need a man, didn’t want one so she could go all goo-goo-eyed and heartbroken when he didn’t call or when he didn’t do what he promised—like show up for his own wedding. Yeah, she was so done with men and relationships. But there was the matter of a child. She might like to have a kid, a girl, but not the man. Just his sperm.

“Is there a young man in your life?” The question slithered toward her, wound itself around her body, tight, tighter, sucking the air from her lungs.

Angie shook her head, black curls bouncing her answer before she put sound to it. “No.”

“Ah.” Mimi Pendergrass tilted her head to one side, tapped a finger against her chin, the silver ball earrings she wore swaying with the movement. “There’s heartache in that word, I hear it. You’re not the first and, sad to say, you won’t be the last.” Those blue eyes glittered. “We’ve all known our share of sadness, but this town is special because we help each other get through tough times.” A smile inched across her lips. “I could start with myself and work my way up and down the streets until you knew all about the residents of Magdalena and how they survived. I won’t say it’s easy and I sure as heck won’t say any of us enjoyed the suffering, but we didn’t do it alone.”

Did this woman think Angie needed help? Needed a town full of strangers to listen to the pathetic story of the man who left her three days before their wedding? As if she would admit that! “Thanks for the story, but I’m fine. The only reason I’m here is to build a few miniature houses for some rich person in New York City who’s developed a sudden obsession with small towns.” The letter and subsequent phone call requested that
Dream Houses by Kate
replicate four structures in Magdalena, two requiring completion while in the town, the other two four months later. The individual had selected the structures: two houses, a bed and breakfast, and a grocery store. It was the oddest request she’d ever had, but the amount of money involved proved mind-blowing. And since Kate had gone and gotten married to that pain in the ass, Rourke Flannigan,
and
moved to Chicago, that left Angie to handle the majority of the business. Oh, her best friend promised to figure out a way to make the long-distance partnership work, but how was that really going to happen? Before too long, Kate would end up pregnant with Rourke Flannigan’s child,
again
, but this time he’d know about it. The jerk would dote on his wife, probably get morning sickness right along with her, buy her a diamond the size of Rhode Island, not that Kate would care about jewelry. She had the guy’s heart, and no doubt he’d tell her that no less than twelve times a day.

Angie was happy for them; she just couldn’t relate to the I-need-you-to-breathe kind of a relationship unless it had to do with an animal, like the Labrador mix, Oliver, she’d lost two years ago. Dogs would never betray you, and that was one more reason she’d decided to get a dog instead of a husband.

“Angie? I’m sorry, you don’t know me from the mailman, and it’s not my place to inquire.”

You got that right
. Angie pasted a smile on her face and said, “No big deal.” Except it
was
a big deal.

Mimi Pendergrass nodded and motioned toward the kitchen. “How about I fix you a glass of hibiscus tea and you try out the oatmeal raisin cookies I made yesterday? Best get first pick of the cookies before my pal, Ben Reed, stops by to eat them up.” She worked her way to the kitchen, removed two glasses from the cupboard, and said in a soft voice, “That boy sure does love his sweets, but he loves his wife more, refuses to bring anything heaped with sugar into the house. No pies, no cakes, no cookies.” She paused, glanced at Angie. “Not even a vanilla wafer.”

“Why?” Was the woman allergic to sugar? That would be a true shame. Angie thought of the milk chocolate nut bar she had stashed in the top drawer of the dresser upstairs. The perfect post-midnight snack.

“Like I said, he loves his wife more. Gina’s had a lifelong battle with food, and she’s finally got it under control. Ben was a big part of that, but it doesn’t mean he can bring home a tray of cookies, or a cheesecake, or even a box of sugared cereal. She can’t stop at two cookies or one slice of cake.” She shook her head, sighed. “That family of hers is responsible for a lot of it, but they’ll never see it that way. No matter, that’s why Ben stops by a few times a week and loads up on his sugar fill.” She grinned, set a tray of cookies on the kitchen table. “And that’s why I keep the goodies fresh and ready. Sure don’t want to disappoint that boy, not with the baby coming.”

“Baby, huh?”
Great. Another happy couple
. Was the whole town bursting with men and women professing undying love to each other? Angie didn’t want to hear about Ben who loved his sweets but loved his wife more, and the baby that would be here soon, the one they’d protect until they drew their last breath. But what if their last breath happened before the kid could remember what they looked like? That’s what had happened to Angie, and maybe that’s why she didn’t get the whole maternal bond thing.

“Oh, indeed.” Mimi handed Angie her hibiscus tea and motioned for her to take a seat. “We’re all so excited about this baby, and nobody knows the sex, not even Ben and Gina. How many things in life are still surprises? Not many, I’ll tell you that. Ben and Gina didn’t care about painting the room the right color and getting blue outfits instead of pink ones. Who says a girl can’t wear blue? It’s one of my favorite colors; bet I wear blue four days out of the week.”

Angie couldn’t resist. “What about pink for a boy? Think that’s an issue?”

Mimi Pendergrass shook her head so hard her earrings whacked her neck. “Absolutely not. A few months ago, we had a wedding here and every single male who attended wore a pink shirt.” She held out a hand and began ticking off names on her fingers. “Michael Androvich, Nate Desantro, Ben Reed, Daniel Casherdon. Honey, these men will make you forget to breathe, but they wore pink for their women.” Her brows pinched, her voice turned hard. “Brody Kinkaid wore pink, too, but you won’t meet him.” Those blue eyes shifted to silver. “Unless you visit the cemetery.”

Angie was curious about the men in pink because it did take a guy with a lot of confidence
and
guts to wear a color that might be considered feminine. Just her opinion, but Frank Sorrento had raised her to believe men did not wear “soft” colors, and they never wore pink. But what she really wanted to know about was the one at the cemetery. “What happened to the guy?”

Mimi opened her mouth and spit out, “Heart attack.”

“How old?” Something told her he wasn’t a senior citizen.

“Young. Thirty-two.” And then, “He hurt a lot of people, especially his wife. Poor Bree. She did not deserve that.” Her gaze settled on the glass of hibiscus tea. “It’s going to be a long while before she trusts a man again.”

What to say to that?
Yup. Most men are untrustworthy jerks
? Mimi’s tone implied betrayal, like a cheating husband.
Damn men to hell, could they not keep it in their pants?
Angie bet the woman had kids, too. “Does this woman have children?”

“Bree’s got three girls. Darling, but a handful.”

“Sounds like a mess.” At least there was one person in town who knew happily-ever-after was more fairy tale than fact. Angie should be used to the whole illusion by now because the people who bought into it were the ones who contacted
Dream Houses by Kate
to expand the illusion with a miniature house, exactly like their own. Kate was the one who fell head over heels with the stories and the feelings tied to them, while Angie focused on the plans and the mechanics.
That
was her comfort zone: no gush of emotions, just blueprints and objects you could actually touch.

“Relationships are messy, even the best ones. My husband and I loved each other, but we sure did have some battles.” She tsk-tsked, let out a laugh. “He almost divorced me but that was because I’d booted him out of the house.” Mimi leaned toward Angie, lowered her voice as though there were other people in the room and said, “He was afraid of commitment, even though he’d put this ring on my finger.” She held out her left hand and showed Angie the plain gold band on her ring finger. “The dang man up and disappeared for days, then tried to waltz back in as though he’d done nothing more than gone to town for the newspaper. I kicked him out, and no matter how many bouquets of roses he sent, or boxes of cherry cordials, didn’t matter. He finally had enough and sent the divorce papers.” The next words slipped out, coated in pain. “I almost lost him, but those papers woke me right up. We never spent another night apart, not until the day he closed his eyes for good.”

“I’m sorry.” Angie stuffed half an oatmeal cookie in her mouth because she didn’t know what else to say. There
was
nothing else to say, not anything that would matter. Pain was pain, and loss was loss, bone-deep, piled in a hurt that never went away. And this was why she didn’t want anybody nosing around in her business, even if she claimed to bake a killer apple pie and had a kind smile. That was the trouble with people; they wanted to get to know you, have you sit down while they poured you a glass of tea and then expected you to spill your guts, starting with why you didn’t have a mother and ending with why you didn’t have a husband.
Bull
. Private was private and if Angie wanted anybody to know, she’d tell them without the invitation to sit or have tea. But this wasn’t Montpelier, New York, where everyone knew better than to get too close or ask too many questions, and Kate wasn’t here to keep the curious away. It was all on Angie, and she had to work on her mouth and her people skills because she needed this deal. For her father. So he could finally enjoy life: a new knee, a trip to the mountains, storm windows and siding on the house, maybe an updated living room set and the new truck he’d been eyeing. If she had to engage in the occasional touchy-feely chatter, she’d do it—for her father—the one man who’d never let her down.

***

“She builds
dollhouses
?”

“Not dollhouses exactly. They’re miniatures of people’s homes.” Miriam might as well have told her son Angie Sorrento built paper airplanes. Her son didn’t believe in professions that provided no practical application and he certainly wouldn’t think replicating someone’s home in small scale was practical.

Nate blew out a sigh, shook his head, and muttered, “Dollhouses,” and turned back to the task of installing a new belt in Miriam’s washing machine.

“They’re very intricate,” Miriam said, staring at her son’s back, glad he couldn’t see her face. “She showed me photos of her work; one of the houses even had a heart-shaped tub in it.” She clasped her hands, pushed on. “Imagine that?”

“Yeah,” Nate said, his voice flat. “Imagine that.”

“She’s replicating a few houses in Magdalena as well as the Heart Sent and Sal’s Market.”
And your house is on her list
. Candace had been very specific about which houses she wanted Angie Sorrento to replicate.

“Huh.” That was his only response, which wasn’t a response at all. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to comment, he did. “I don’t know why anybody would agree to that. Sounds like an intrusion and a damn inconvenience.”

This was exactly what she’d expected her son to say, and she didn’t have a lot of time to change his mind. “I don’t think so.” Miriam stared at the back of his head. Nathan had come a long way since Christine walked into his life. He’d softened his attitude, grown more patient, and on occasion, even shown immense compassion. But he would not let his privacy or that of his family’s be breached. Miriam understood this better than anyone, and now she would be the one to breach that privacy. She focused on the dark curls at the back of her son’s strong neck and sipped in air.