Lydia Lane. Judith Bowen
FROM ONE GIRLFRIEND TO ANOTHER…
Dear Charlotte,
Just a note to let you know that you and Zoey aren’t the only two to find your first love—I’ve found mine!
Only, he doesn’t know it, of course. And I’m not telling. He’s a lawyer now—still has a “bad boy” motorcycle, though—and he’s got a darling little girl. Guess who introduced us? His ex!
Zoey, as usual, is giving me plenty of advice. I hope you’re having a wonderful time in Bermuda and I’m so looking forward to the three of us getting together when you return. See you soon!
Love,
Lydia
Dear Reader,
Just what is “keeping house”? In the barest sense, it means keeping a family safe, secure and healthy by providing the essentials of warmth, shelter and food. But beyond the physical necessities of life, “keeping house” also means providing for grace, beauty, hospitality, friendship…. The list goes on. Not just sustaining life, but what makes life worth living.
A home is much more than a house.
Lydia Lane wants to do all these things, only she doesn’t have a family to practice on. She decides to turn her knowledge into a business, teaching the “homely arts” to others. One of her first clients is Sam T. Pereira, the “bad boy” she’d once secretly loved with all the passion in her fifteen-year-old heart.
Now a street lawyer and a divorced single dad who works out of his house so he can spend more time with his daughter, Sam can’t believe how his buddy’s little sister has grown up. He decides he doesn’t just want her turning his house into a home; he wants her in his life.
I hope you enjoy the story of Lydia and Sam as they discover that true love can happen to people who care deeply about the things that give life its meaning—home and family.
With Lydia’s story, we end the three girlfriends’ search for their first loves. Zoey chases her man down (or so she thinks); Charlotte accidentally falls for hers all over again and, to turn the tables, Lydia’s first love finds her.
Warmest regards,
Judith Bowen
P.S. I love to hear from readers. Write me at P.O. Box 2333, Point Roberts, WA 98281-2333 or check out my Web site at www.judithbowen.com.
Lydia Lane
Judith Bowen
To Linda Earl,
loyal, generous, enthusiastic—always an inspiration
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
“AMBER!” Sam slapped the pizza box onto the coffee table in the family room, pushing aside the week’s accumulation of newspapers and comic books. He whistled loudly, then yelled up the stairs. “Mommy’s show is on and the pizza’s here.”
He flicked the channels on the big-screen television until he got to TownTV, Channel 14, and the familiar opening medley of his ex-wife’s late-afternoon talk show, “What’s New with Candy Lou?” Her name was Candace Penelope Downing, no Lou at all, but the producers thought the rhyme sounded better.
“Yippee!” His daughter raced into the room with her friend from three doors down, Tania Jackson, right behind her. Amber carried the microphone from the play karaoke set that had been a Christmas present. Tania never said much. The two girls, both eight, were practically joined at the hip, and now they skidded to a stop as one, each grabbed a slice of pizza—the two largest, of course—and scrambled onto the oversize recliner where they settled down happily. Nothing to wipe their fingers with. Should he bother? Yeah, might as well, even though the whole room was due for a major cleaning.
“Who’s Mommy got on today?” Amber asked, her mouth already stuffed with Hawaiian pizza. Sam was so sick of Hawaiian he could scream. Oh, for a lacing of hot peppers and anchovies. Feta cheese and Greek olives—he could dream, couldn’t he? Cappicola or, damn, even oysters!
“Don’t know, honey.” Sam dropped a couple of paper towels on the arm of the girls’ chair and then settled into the other recliner with his slice of pizza. Come to think of it, he was sick of pizza, period. “We’ll see.”
Watching Candace Downing’s show with his daughter was a ritual Sam tried not to miss. Amber lived with him. The single women who drifted in and out of his life and the regular visits from Amber’s grandmother and his sisters didn’t provide enough feminine influence, in his opinion. This—watching Candace’s show once a week—was supposedly one way of maintaining maternal contact. Candace’s idea, naturally.
What kind of world was that—where you had to catch your mother on afternoon TV if you wanted to see her?
Sam shook his head and told himself to pay attention.
“—a new and unusual business. Do you really teach people like me how to polish silver?” Candace’s high-pitched giggle had always bothered him. Sam frowned; he’d seen that woman before, Candace’s guest.
“—if you happen to own silver. Many people, of course, don’t. But the service I provide helps busy Toronto families learn some of the skills involved in running a household efficiently and well. There can be a lot of satisfaction in knowing that the people you love are being taken care of—”
“I’ll take your word for it!”
“So many of the homemaking arts our grandmothers knew have been lost over the years. These skills used to be passed down as a matter of course from mother to daughter. I learned a lot of them from my great-aunt. Since the sixties, our mothers have been too busy forging careers outside the home to worry about housekeeping skills, so, over the last few decades a lot of know-how has disappeared. Often, today, there’s no one to ask. That’s where my company, Domestica, comes in. We can teach you the skills that will make your home a sanctuary in a hectic world.”
“How intriguing. Literally turning a house into a home, you mean?”
Sam glanced around the family room. It looked like a tornado had been through. It always looked like a tornado had been through when his mother was away, which she was, or he’d lost another cleaning lady, which he had, just before Christmas. He could go for some of that sanctuary business….
“That’s right.” The woman on the screen gave his ex a cool look—one that was very appealing, Sam thought—and slowly crossed her legs. Long, slim, very nice legs, he noted, pizza slice halfway from his plate to his mouth. He frowned. He definitely knew this woman from somewhere. A client? No way!
“Homemaking skills are important but sadly undervalued in the modern