For Jessie's Sake. Kate Welsh
director for all the Hopewell enterprises.
After the tour, Colin spent the rest of the day at Torthùil, tearing out the destroyed plaster ceilings and walls and cataloguing the changes he planned to make. He did everything with an eye toward preserving the hundred-and-fifty-year tradition of the classic colonial farmhouse built by Liam McCarthy, an ancestor back in the 1860s for whom his father had been named.
But hard labor couldn’t keep questions about Abby from his mind. He remembered the adventurous, happy girl he’d fished out of the river who’d become fast friends with his sister. She’d been impulsive and mischievous, yet generous and good-hearted. Then he’d come home for Christmas six months after joining the army to find a new Abby. She was still the coltish teen he’d left behind, but she was quieter and more reserved than he’d remembered. Then he’d gone home for Tracy’s graduation and found Abby had turned into a siren who’d all but forced him to dance with her at the graduation party his parents had thrown for both girls. It was later that night that his barriers had fallen and he’d let her pull him in with her sensual innocence, trapping his mind and heart.
And then there was now. She was uptight, prissy and cold. But, that said, there was also a bit of the old Abby in the way she treated Jessie. It was probably just her good business sense, he told himself. As long as she catered to Jessie, the other guests would approve, preserving their good image of Cliff Walk and its proprietor.
He’d gone looking for answers and had only come up with more questions about the past—and more problems with the present. What had happened between Abby and Tracy? And if she and Abby had no longer been friends, then that meant Abby had had no part in his sister’s death.
Colin didn’t know where today’s glimpse into those months between his departure and Tracy’s death left him, but one thing was clear.
He needed answers.
And once he had them, Colin wasn’t sure he’d like them.
Not one little bit.
Chapter Four
Abby spent the evening and all the next day trying to avoid Colin at every turn.
She was too busy to waste time worrying about the past and the particularly annoying customer in her present. That’s all Colin was.
She had to focus—she was planning to attend a meeting at the town hall that night, and she was anxious to see Harley Bryant’s reaction to her now that she was officially on the ballot to run against him in November’s mayoral election.
As dinner approached, Abby changed into a light summer suit and pinned her hair up in the no-nonsense style appropriate for tonight’s meeting of the zoning commission. As a candidate for the mayor of Hopetown, she needed to project a serious and businesslike image. She’d never have run for public office, but Harley Bryant had to be ousted before he ran Hopetown into the ground. More than once Harley had shamelessly used his position as mayor to further his own agenda, one that seemed to include destroying everything her mother and sisters had worked to build. She’d more or less been drafted by the chamber of commerce and other concerned citizens, and initially she’d felt she had no choice but to run for the office. But now she wanted to beat him. She wanted him contained and silenced so that his wheeling and dealing could only hurt those who chose to do business with Bryant Savings and Loan, his family business.
To get into town, Abby planned to borrow the little Mercedes she and her mother shared. Abby knew she had some time before Juliana arrived with the car. She’d dropped her mother off at the manor, then zip down the winding road into Hopetown. Anxious to be on her way, she settled into one of the big wicker rockers on the porch to wait.
It was only a routine meeting tonight and since she was well prepared, Abby let her mind wander as she stared out over the terraces of ripening vines. Before she knew it, her mind veered to thoughts of Colin. Then the porch squeaked behind her.
Startled by the intrusion, Abby turned. As if conjured by her thoughts, he stood just outside the front door. From the look of surprise on his handsome face, she was sure he was just as unprepared as she was to find themselves alone together.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.
“Why not? I told you I live here,” she replied, recovering quickly despite her racing heart.
A smirk crossed his features. “That’s what I hear, but you couldn’t prove it by how scarce the Snow White sightings have been. Jessie’s going to drive me crazy asking where you are. Are you hiding from us, Miss Abby?”
Abby stood, her lips clamped together to keep herself from answering truthfully that she was hiding from him. As she tried to walk away, he put a hand on her arm to stop her retreat. Her racing heart now thundered at his touch. Pointedly, Abby looked down at his hand, then defiantly back up at him.
Her gaze locked with his. He stared. She stared. Unable to look away, she nearly sighed in relief when a piping voice said joyously, “Miss Abby! You’re here! Daddy found you.”
Colin blinked and dropped his hand from her arm as if burned. “She’s here. We were just talking about old times,” he lied—but not very smoothly. His voice sounded rough, as though his throat was dry. He coughed a little then went on, “Abby wasn’t so hard to find when I lived around here before. In fact, our family couldn’t seem to get rid of her. She was always around because she was your Aunt Tracy’s best friend.”
“Aunt Tracy’s the one who got dead, right?”
“Yes.” He coughed again, clearly fighting emotion. “When she was eighteen,” he amended. From the thin line of his lips and the angry flare in his eyes, Abby guessed he’d remembered not just Tracy’s death but his inability to attend the funeral.
Well, she carried a lot of anger about Tracy’s death too—but it was directed at Colin. If Tracy had still been her friend, she would have listened to the truth about Kiel Laughlin when Abby tried to tell her. Tracy had had one huge fault—money. Feeling the lack of it, and desperately wanting it. She’d seen Abby’s mother’s life as a fairy tale come true. And she’d thought Kiel was her Prince Charming.
But Kiel was spoiled and reckless. One day while Tracy stood on the bow of his father’s boat, Kiel took his eyes off the river to take another swig of his beer. He ran them aground at high rate of speed and Tracy broke her neck when she flew off and landed in the shallow water. He’d been charged with manslaughter. There hadn’t been any witnesses on the shore, though, and the one witness against him had changed her story at the last minute. Everyone else on the boat had always claimed to have been looking the other way. With no evidence, Kiel had been found not guilty.
Tracy had been with Kiel for one reason—to capture him and his wealth. She hadn’t understood that the real treasure was a marriage like Tracy’s parents had shared. No matter the lack of material goods, the McCarthys’ marriage had been one made in heaven.
No so with the Hopewells. Abby’s mother had found wealth when she wed her husband but within months of Tracy’s death, the marriage dissolved.
It was only after ending her last attempt at a relationship that Abby had come to understand that she had to put the lessons of that painful summer to work in her own life. She would never again let a man get close to her. She was impulsive and had a passionate nature that would surely lead her to heartbreak again and again. Abby knew what a dangerous combination those could be just by looking at the mess her father had made of all their lives.
James Hopewell had gone on a tour of Europe after graduation from college. While in Tuscany he’d met Juliana and was swept away by passion for the seventeen-year-old daughter of a local vintner. He’d married her in spite of her father’s objections, then he’d brought his young wife home, where he’d found his own parents no less displeased by the union.
Years later he’d once again impulsively succumbed to his craving for passion and he’d betrayed Juliana. It was only months after Abby’s own debacle with Colin, and Tracy’s death, that her mother discovered James in the arms of another woman.