Laura Abbot (4 page)

“That would help.” A shadow fell across her face. “I’ve had enough discouragement in my life for the last few years.”

He was tempted to pick up that last thread, but something in her posture let him know the topic was off-limits for now. “I’m not unenthusiastic. Just cautious, I guess. Have you done sales projections? Considered the off-season decline in business?”

“You know, if I didn’t like you so much, I could be downright offended.” She raised her wineglass, studied the contents, then looked up. “Let me allay your concerns. Would it help if I told you I have an MBA in marketing and considerable business expertise?”

Abashed, he held up his hands in self-defense. “I apologize. Obviously you’ve figured in the risk factors. At least I hope so, because I’m interested in your success.”

She took a sip of her wine. “Why?”

“I hope to enjoy observing the rehabilitation of a bona fide trespasser.”

“Wow, I’ve gone from business owner to felon in mere seconds.”

He chuckled. “Believe me, you’re much more than that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead. Lay it on.”

His attorney’s glibness failed him. He simply blurted out the truth. “You’re an attractive woman I’d like to know better. I’m glad you’re settling in Belleporte.” He held up his ale. “Laurel, I wish you success and happiness.”

Her eyes found his, and in that instant he knew she was aware he had spoken from his heart.

As if delaying her response, she took a long time setting down her wine. “Thank you, Ben.”

Their dinner arrived, and for a few moments neither of them spoke. Then Laurel commented on the quality of the walleye and he made some inane remark about the steak living up to expectations. A high school classmate of his who ran an auto parts store stopped by the table, clearly ogling Laurel and angling for an introduction.

Ben stifled the urge to bust his chops. What was going on? He had no right to feel proprietary about Laurel, but he did. Involvement was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Not now. Not with all his obligations.

Laurel squeezed a second lemon wedge over her fish. “Ben, I want to ask you something, and I want an honest answer.”

“Shoot.”

“I’d really like to know what exactly is worrying you about my plans.”

During the rest of the meal, he did his best to couch his reservations in nonjudgmental terms. Mainly he wanted her to be realistic about the seasonal nature of the business and the relatively small market area surrounding Belleporte and Lake City. When he finished, he added, “I hope you know I’m pulling for you. It’s not my intent to cast gloom on the project.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “You didn’t, and I appreciate your candor. Sometimes I have a tendency to take off like a soaring balloon, and every now and then I need somebody to yank my string. Thanks.” She withdrew her hand and smiled at him. “Could you suggest a good CPA? I’m not so confident to think I can do without an accountant.”

“My brother Brian practices in Lake City.”

“If he’s as straightforward as you, he ought to do fine. I’ll call him when I get back in January.” She took a last bite of the braised vegetables, then set down her fork. “Do you have other brothers and sisters?”

“There are six of us kids. Plus Mom. My father’s dead.”

“Tell me about them.”

He ticked them off on his fingers. “I’m the oldest, then Brian, who’s the quintessential young bachelor-about-town. My sister Bess is married and lives in Grand Rapids with her husband and two boys. Terry is a grad student at Northwestern. That leaves Megan, who’s a high school senior, and Mike, a sophomore, still at home.”

“Wow, I’m envious.”

“Why’s that?”

She smiled wistfully. “You’re looking at an only child who always wished for a brother or sister.”

“Being part of a big family has its moments,” he said with a grin, “not all of them wonderful.” He sobered, thinking of Mike. “But I wouldn’t trade mine for anything.”

“I hope to meet some of them when I get back in January.”

He chuckled. “You can’t be in Belleporte long without bumping into one or another of us Nolans.” He buttered the last half of his roll. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

Despite reminding himself he didn’t need the complication of Laurel Eden in his life, the news of her immediate departure hit him like a punch to the stomach. “Where will you live when you get back?”

By the time they were finished with dessert, she’d told him about her meeting with Arlo Bramwell and her plans for remodeling the cottage. Ben wished he could let her enthusiasm override his concerns. But he couldn’t. The upstairs apartment was an additional investment she was making in the property. He didn’t want to see her fail, yet he was fearful that was exactly what was going to happen. This was one time he didn’t want to be right.

Ben drew up short, aware his thoughts were again following a dangerous path. Why should he be concerned about Laurel Eden and her success or failure? He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of caring about her or any woman. No matter how tempting.

L
AUREL HUNCHED HER SHOULDERS
as Ben helped her into her coat. It had been a perfect day—The Gift Horse purchase, the meeting with Arlo Bramwell and this wonderful dinner with a handsome, blue-eyed man. Ben had insisted on paying. Another “man thing,” he’d said.

She’d enjoyed herself—and enjoyed Ben and his genuineness. Maybe more than she should have. Slipping her arm through his as they walked toward the parking lot, she found herself wanting to prolong the evening. “Are you game for a little adventure, counselor?”

“That sounds remarkably like a dare,” he said with a chuckle. “What do you have in mind?”

She nodded toward the lake. “There’s a wonderful expanse of sand. I love the sound of the waves. And, look.” She pointed at the horizon. “Nearly a full moon.”

He eyed her footwear. “You sure?”

Grabbing his hand, she led him toward the beach. “Of course. Besides, what’s a little sand in our shoes?”

“I’m game,” he said, catching up to her and tucking her hand under his arm. “Why do I have the feeling this is just one in a series of adventures for you?”

“Because it is. Don’t you see?” She looked up at him with teasing eyes. “That’s what life’s all about. Adventure. Excitement. All the good things.”

“Tell me. How does one lead such a charmed life?”

“I know how simplistic it sounds. But for the most part, I
have
led a charmed life.” Then she told him all about growing up in the mountains of West Virginia, the child of two former hippies for whom “peace, love, happiness” and “doing their thing” were priorities. She described her homeschooling, the success she’d enjoyed at the University of West Virginia, and how she fell into the job as the traveling rep for an Appalachian crafts cooperative.

“No failures, no disappointments, no broken romances?” he asked.

She slowed her pace. “You know, for a long time I didn’t have what I would term genuinely bad experiences—at least not personal ones.” They walked on a ways, listening to the splish-splash of the waves. The moon etched a silver vee across the surface of the lake, and dune grass swayed in the breeze. “Not until I…grew up, that is.” She winced at the bitterness of her tone.

He stopped and turned to her. “Does this have anything to do with what you mentioned earlier? About having had enough discouragement?”

Ben was too sensitive a listener. She hadn’t meant to get into this. She started down the beach again, wondering how to answer him.

He didn’t press her, but fell in beside her, this time putting his arm around her and drawing her close. Finally, in the gentlest of tones, he merely said, “Laurel?”

“You know,” she began slowly, “I can’t imagine now how I could have been so naive, so trusting. The world was always a beautiful place for me and I took people at face value.”

“That doesn’t sound so awful.”

“It’s not, but it’s idealistic. When I went off to college, I experienced a rude awakening. I was ill-prepared for the materialism and cynicism of many of my peers. I look back and wonder if I was in total la-la land.”

“What happened?”

“I met the knight-in-shining-armor.” She fixed her eyes on a point far up the beach. “Tarnished armor.”

“Laurel, if you’d rather not talk about it—”

“No,” she said in a firm voice. “I need to talk about it.” She acknowledged her reaction was out of character; she rarely discussed her former husband. “Curt was a graduate assistant in the business department, well on his way to a brilliant career. He had it all—a great intellect, looks, connections, charisma. You can guess the rest. I fell for him like a ton of bricks.”

“And?”

“Married him, of course. At the beginning, I couldn’t believe my luck. But it didn’t take long to see what he was really after.”

“Which was?”

“A country bumpkin he could groom into the perfect companion and hostess. The ultimate self-effacing corporate wife.” Laurel felt Ben’s grip on her waist tighten. “He didn’t want a woman with a mind of her own. He wanted a looking glass. ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the most successful man of all?’” She stumbled, grateful for Ben’s support. “Let me tell you, that kind of life plays havoc with your self-esteem. I lasted four years.”

“In the marriage?”

“Yes. For part of our time together, I assumed something was wrong with me. Then one day I woke up and thought ‘Wait a minute. It’s okay to like who you are, to do things to fulfill yourself.’”

“More than all right,” Ben said.

“You asked me the other day if I’m always so enthusiastic. I used to be, and I’m trying hard to be again. That’s what The Gift Horse is all about. This may sound corny, but it’s not only my dream, it’s my ticket back to me. The me I like. Even the me who’s foolishly idealistic.”

Turning her toward him, he cupped her face with one cold hand. “I like this you, Laurel.”

He looked so serious, so concerned. She laid her gloved hand on top of his. “I didn’t mean to burden you.”

He curled his fingers around hers. “You didn’t.”

Caught in the warmth of his gaze, she found herself immobilized. Afterward, she couldn’t have said whether it was the magic of the moonlight, the shush of water on sand, or the longing in his eyes. All she knew was that, lost in the moment and without stopping to think, she gently drew him close. At the same time he found her lips, and then he was lifting her off her feet and kissing her in a way that blotted out the lake, the moon, everything but the sensation of his mouth on hers.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he drew back, letting her down until her toes once again made contact with the sand. All the while, he never stopped gazing at her. “Ben, I—”

He placed a finger on her lips. “Shh.” He cupped her chin and kissed her again, gently, delicately.

When at last he withdrew, he studied her with such intensity that she knew the kiss had taken on a deeper meaning than either of them could have foreseen.

T
HE AZURE-BLUE SKY RANG
with the cry of a hawk, the fragrance of wood smoke floated on the morning-fresh air, and in the distance, the timbered mountains of West Virginia rose crest on crest as far as the eye could see. But Pat Eden heard nothing, smelled nothing, saw nothing—except for the return address on the envelope she held in her trembling hand. An envelope postmarked Belleporte, Michigan.

She sucked in her breath and stood by the mailbox with eyes closed, caught up in memories so piercing, so immediate she was convinced her heart would crack. She wrapped her arms around her chest, as if to shield herself from images too raw, too painful. But it was more than the sudden onslaught of memory that racked her. It was fear. Powerlessness.

Laurel in Belleporte? Unthinkable. Pat had closed that door long ago. Or, rather, had heard it slammed irrevocably behind her. And for thirty years she’d steeled herself to forget the family that had cast her out and ignored her attempts, early on, to renew contact. Finally, for her own peace of mind, it had been easier simply to cut them from her life as if they were dead. To mourn them and move on. And to protect her beloved daughter Laurel from ever knowing what had caused such a schism, or that there had even been one.

She opened her eyes, oblivious to the two German shepherds vying for her attention, and made her way slowly up the rutted dirt lane toward the log home that Noel had so lovingly built for the three of them. She should open the letter. Read it. Reassure herself that this was all some crazy, harmless coincidence. But despite her rationalizations, it didn’t feel harmless.

“Pat?” Her husband stood on the front porch, his whip-lean body tight with concern. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She held out the envelope to him. “Oh, Noel. I’m afraid I have. Look.”

Stroking his beard, he studied the envelope. When he looked up, his eyes were warm with concern. “It’s only a letter, Pat. Nothing has happened.”

“Not yet. But—”

He handed back the letter. “Open it, darlin’. Maybe it’s nothing.”

She drew out the folded sheet of paper, focusing with difficulty on the elaborate graphics, the fancy script. “Primrose House, Your Belleporte Sanctuary.” Quickly she scanned the page. “Laurel’s spending a couple of days there before she goes back to work.” She sagged against him with a sense of impending doom. “Read this last part. Oh, Noel, what if she chooses Belleporte for her shop?”

“That isn’t apt to happen.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a moment. Silently. But she could sense him gathering himself. Then the words came. “Would it be so bad if she found out?”

She pulled away, a flush of anger coloring her cheeks. “We agreed to leave all that behind.” She looked up, momentarily resenting her husband for the reproof she read in his eyes.

“She’s an adult. She has a right to know.”

“To know what? That her mother has lied to her since birth? That the family who should have welcomed her and loved her cast us out without so much as a backward glance? We made a decision years ago. Don’t fight me about this now, Noel.”