A Christmas Bride Page 6

  “David, really, listen to—”

  “No, you listen.” He pulled away from Roxy and pointed rudely at his mother’s chest. “I don’t want this wedding to be about my election. And I sure as hell don’t want to play host to anyone at Eagle Hill Manor. So if neither of those options is going to work for Jeff and Melissa, then the best thing they could do for themselves and the rest of us is to elope.”

  He turned away and strode through the crowd looking for Natalie. He found her sitting on Uncle Jamie’s lap, having a fabulous time being the center of attention.

  Damn. He didn’t want to stay here a minute longer. He wasn’t in any kind of holly-jolly mood. He just wanted to be alone. Didn’t people understand that? The second anniversary of Shelly’s death was coming up. This time of year would never, ever be happy for him again.

  What he wanted was to drown himself in the bottle of bourbon waiting for him at home.

  “Natalie. We’re going,” he said.

  His daughter looked up. He wasn’t immune to the disappointment in her dark chocolate eyes.

  Damn.

  That look clawed at him, and he had to suppress the urge to drop to his knees and give his child an endless hug and promise that he’d find some way not to disappoint her all the time.

  But he didn’t know how to make his knees bend or his arms open. Besides, if he stopped and gave Natalie a hug right here in front of everyone, he might hold on to her forever. He might not be able to let go. He might weep.

  And Lyndons weren’t supposed to cry. Not in public. Not even in private. And certainly not in the presence of their children.

  * * *

  If there hadn’t been some urgency, Willow might have taken as long as a week to put the finishing touches on her business plan. But there wasn’t any time. If she was going to buy the inn in time for Melissa’s wedding, she needed to get her act together.

  So she spent all of Thursday closeted in her tiny bedroom under the eaves at Serenity Farm doing quick and dirty market research via the Internet. By Friday morning she had a written plan. It had holes and gaps, particularly in her estimates of the costs of fixing up the inn. But it would have to do. She had an eleven o’clock appointment with Jefferson Talbert-Lyndon.

  She pulled out her Christian Dior suit and a pair of no-name basic heels. Black might be a boring color, but no woman ever went wrong wearing it to a business meeting. Let Hillary Clinton wear jewel tones. Willow believed that black was the new black.

  For the past decade, most of her sales meetings had been in giant skyscrapers located in New York or London or Hong Kong. But today she parked her POS Honda in the town lot on North Second Street and walked to Secondhand Prose, where Jefferson Talbert-Lyndon spent his days.

  She had to walk under the scaffolding to find the bookshop’s entrance and was pleasantly surprised to find a cat tree in the front window. A big, gray cat slept there like a sentry, with one amber eye trained on the sidewalk. There had always been a cat tree in Secondhand Prose’s front window, although the cat Willow remembered from her childhood had been a tabby.

  Aside from the cat in the window, almost everything else about the bookshop had changed. Gone were the dusty bookshelves and the disorganized mess of used books stacked every which way. Now the place smelled like old books and had a vibe to it, like one of those bohemian indie bookstores in the Village or Brooklyn. Recessed lighting had banished the gloom, the wide plank wood floors had been refinished, and the building’s interior brick walls had been exposed. Comfy chairs now occupied several nooks where customers could sit and read to their heart’s content, and the merchandise included literary gift items and some new titles in addition to the fabulous collection of old books.

  She headed toward the checkout counter, where a hipster dude wearing a literary T-shirt manned the cash register. “Hi. I’m here for a meeting with Mr. Talbert-Lyndon,” she said.

  The clerk looked like a refugee from Brooklyn with his slightly shaggy hair, five-o’clock shadow, and the blue T-shirt that said Be silly. Be honest. Be kind. Willow had never heard that quote, but the T-shirt claimed it had been penned by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Who knew someone that old and dusty could be so fun?

  The clerk gave her the once-over. Something about those dark eyes seemed familiar. “You must be Willow Petersen,” he said.

  “Mr. Talbert-Lyndon is expecting me.”

  That got a laugh. “The last name’s not Talbert-Lyndon. It’s just plain Talbert now.” He held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Willow. You didn’t have to dress up for me.”

  Uh-oh. Her confidence plummeted about as fast as the heat raced over her face. She’d done a lot of research on Jefferson Talbert’s net worth and not once had she bothered to look at a photo of the guy. She’d assumed that he’d dress in the Lyndon uniform of choice—a gray or blue suit. “Uh, oh, um, hi,” she said, shaking his hand.

  “So, you said you had something you wanted to talk about. Something about Eagle Hill Manor?”

  Great. This was not going as planned. She’d anticipated making this pitch in an office, across a desk. Not standing here in the middle of a store. But there didn’t seem to be an office in sight. She was going to have to do an elevator pitch.

  She took a big breath to slow her pulse and pulled her plan out of her briefcase. “I met Melissa at the Jaybird a few days ago, and she was telling me how much she wanted to have her wedding reception at Eagle Hill Manor. I know you talked to David Lyndon about that. And I know he wasn’t very cooperative.

  “And all of that got me to thinking, especially since your cousin is putting the inn up for sale. It’s a great opportunity.” She handed him her business plan.

  “An opportunity for what?”

  “For investment. That’s a plan,” she said, nodding at the papers she’d put into his hands, “for renovating the inn and turning it into a wedding destination.” She continued on, gaining confidence as she gave him her three-minute summary of the opportunity, the equity position, and the expected ROI. Then she stared him right in the face and asked for a boatload of money. It was just as hard to ask for gigantic sums of money as it was to ask for smaller amounts. So she went big.

  Jefferson Talbert-Lyndon smiled at the figure and said, “Your reputation precedes you.”

  This was not what she’d expected to hear. She counted to five and made a show of reading the words on his shirt. If only she could be silly about this. Honesty had not worked for her. And she’d always been kind.

  The smile faded from his face. “You know, this is tempting, but my situation is complicated.”

  “Complicated how?”

  “I wasn’t talking about the business. The truth is, I’m not interested in investing in an inn. The failure rate for businesses like that is high. And the rate of return isn’t all that stellar either. To be honest, I would prefer to convince David to host the wedding. I shouldn’t have to buy him out to make that happen.”

  “I see. But David is unlikely to do that.”

  “I know. And that’s why Melissa and I have more or less decided to get married in Vegas. It’s easier all the way around.”

  “But that’s not what she wants, is it?”

  “She’s the one who suggested it. So, while I thank you for trying to help us solve this problem, the bottom line is that it’s cheaper and easier for us to elope than for me to buy an inn just to have a wedding reception. I’m sorry, Willow.” He handed the plan back to her.

  “No, keep the plan. Read it. You might change your mind.”

  She turned away, certain that Jefferson Talbert would never read her plan. She’d have to come up with some other idea for her future.

  * * *

  Since Shelly’s death, David negotiated his life by routine. Routine kept him from thinking too much and feeling too much. And not feeling was the best way to keep him away from that bottle of bourbon that lived in his bottom desk drawer at home. That bottle had taken a hit on Wednesday night, after Uncle Jamie�
�s party.

  But it was Friday now, and David was back in control of himself. And when noon arrived, he left his desk and took the five-block walk to Gracie’s Diner. Lunch was the anchor of his day.

  He was such a regular at the diner that Gracie unofficially reserved his favorite booth—the third from the door—and she always had his tuna sandwich on whole wheat toast with lettuce and tomato ready for him the moment he sat down.

  But today the routine changed. Instead of putting his sandwich in front of him with her usual bright smile, Gracie Teague hovered. And when Gracie hovered, it usually meant she had information to share. Gracie was the chair of the Liberty Avenue Chamber of Commerce and had her finger on the pulse of the community. She was like a living and breathing focus group, which made her enormously useful to anyone in local politics.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  He expected Gracie to lean over and impart some important news, but instead she continued to hover with an uncertain look in her eye.

  “What’s the matter?” A heavy sense of dread settled into his gut.

  Gracie slipped into the booth’s facing bench and leaned in before she spoke. “Mr. Lyndon, you have no reason to do me any kind of favor. But here’s the thing. Melissa is like my own baby girl. Her momma was my best friend, and, well, I would go to the ends of the earth to make her happy.”

  Gracie paused while David waited for the punch line that was surely coming. When her silence became more than he could bear, he said, “Gracie, just spit it out. I don’t have all day. I have a brief to write this afternoon, and I just want to eat my lunch.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t want to keep you from your lunch.” She got up.

  “Gracie, wait. What the hell is it you want to say?”

  She folded her arms across her blue waitress uniform. “Melissa told me this morning that even though the Presbyterian church is available on the date they want, she and Jeff are still planning to run off to Vegas to get married because they can’t find an acceptable place for their reception. And I gather you’re the one who told them it would be best if they eloped.” Gracie’s voice turned watery, and unshed tears filled her eyes.

  “I didn’t put the idea in their heads, Gracie. They’re the ones who didn’t like the wedding Mother was planning for them in New York. Don’t make this out to be more than it is or blame me for what they decide is right for them.”

  Gracie’s spine snapped. “Really? Is that what you think? You could have helped them. You could have let them have their wedding party at the inn. And now, instead, they’re going to elope, and I won’t get to see my girl in a wedding dress. And it’s your fault, Mr. Lyndon.”

  “Now, Gracie, that’s not—”

  “It is your fault. You showed that you’re not a kind or caring man. And make no mistake, if Jeff and Melissa elope, I will have no compunction about telling folks exactly how that came to happen.” Gracie turned her back on him for the first time ever.

  Damn.

  This was a big problem. He didn’t want Gracie Teague supporting Bill Cummins in the primary election. But even more than that, he liked and admired Gracie. She was a decent person, and he hated the idea of disappointing her.

  Sort of like he hated the idea of disappointing Natalie.

  And Shelly.

  But what else was new? For days now, Willow’s angry words had been worming their way through him.

  But he couldn’t please everyone. If he helped Melissa and Jeff, his mother wouldn’t be happy. Mother was already annoyed at him for telling Jeff to elope.

  And Heather and Dad wanted that big wedding in New York because dozens of rich donors would be there.

  How on earth had a wedding gotten so tangled up in politics?

  He was screwed no matter what he did.

  * * *

  Willow picked up a copy of the Winchester Daily at the drugstore and headed down to Gracie’s Diner. So much for her plan to work for herself. Maybe she needed to lower her sights and check the want ads after all. Because if Jeff Talbert wasn’t going to invest in her plan, it was unlikely anyone else would.

  She needed some real food to bolster her flagging confidence. Two days of eating lentils and oatmeal had left her ravenous. The appetite-enhancing aroma of fried bacon and coffee made her stomach growl as she came through the diner’s front door.

  And saw David Lyndon at one of the window booths.

  Crap. He was the last person on the face of the planet that she wanted to see today. Especially after Jeff’s rejection.

  But Shenandoah Falls was a small town, so avoiding David would be impossible if she ended up staying here. Still, the sight of him froze her to the gray linoleum and made her heart turn in her chest. She owed him an apology for what she’d said on Wednesday. She ought to suck it up and go say something nice right now, something that would smooth over the controversy.

  He looked up from his lunch out of dark, brooding eyes, haunted by Shelly’s ghost. His gaze caught and paralyzed her as he got up from his spot and approached.

  He grabbed her by the upper arm before she could think about running. On Wednesday his touch had frightened her. Today it sparked a current of something surprising, and maybe even forbidden, that flowed up her arm and into her core.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said.

  “And I need to—”

  Just then Gracie popped up and said, “Let her go, Mr. Lyndon. I don’t want any trouble in my diner. And besides, she hasn’t done anything to you except tell the truth. And if you can’t handle the truth, well, that’s your problem, not hers.”

  “Um, Gracie, it’s all right.”

  David dropped Willow’s arm, but the buzz he’d ignited remained. “Can we talk?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  Gracie followed them back to David’s booth. “It’s nice to see you back in town again, Willow. What will you be having today, hon?”

  Willow ordered a tuna sandwich on whole wheat toast with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise and a diet Coke. Gracie bustled off, but not before glaring at David.

  “David, I’m so sorry for the way I mouthed off the other day. Really. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was angry, and I regret it. Deeply.”

  “Apology accepted,” he said, his gaze warming, “but I think maybe Gracie is right. You spoke the truth, and I didn’t want to hear it.”

  She nodded and the conversation stalled for a moment, until David spoke again. “Look, I want to talk to you about Jeff and Melissa. Did you know that Gracie has blamed me for their decision to elope?”

  “Well, that’s ridiculous. Melissa was ready to elope on Tuesday when her friends took her to the Jaybird to try to talk her out of it. And I understand why you don’t want to host their wedding. That would put you between Melissa and Jeff and your mom. I told Melissa you would never go for the idea. I thought maybe I could find a way to make it all work out, but Jeff has put the nail in that coffin.” She shrugged and looked away, out the windows at the traffic on Liberty Avenue.

  “What did he do?”

  She returned her gaze to David. “Oh, well, I got this harebrained idea that I could buy the inn, renovate it the way Shelly wanted to, and turn it into a wedding destination. I wrote a business plan and asked Jeff to invest in it. I figured if he invested in my plan, we could buy the inn, do a quick fix-up, and have the wedding there without putting you in the middle of it.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “But he refused. He’s already made up his mind about eloping and doesn’t really want to invest in an inn. Or me, probably.”

  “Do you really want to buy the inn, or were you just suggesting this to help Melissa?”

  “Helping Melissa was part of it. But bottom line, I think I really do want to buy the inn.”

  “Why?”

  “I need a job, David. No, scratch that. Mom would say I need an income, and the inn is as good a business opportunity as any in town. Plus I’d like to fix the place up the way Shelly wa
nted it.”

  His lips thinned, and Willow understood how he might not want to be reminded of Shelly’s plans. But she was being honest with him. And honesty was often painful.

  Gracie interrupted their conversation with Willow’s sandwich and diet Coke. “Here you go, hon.” She nodded in David’s direction. “Is he bothering you?”

  Willow shook her head. “No. We’re okay. And you shouldn’t blame him for Jeff and Melissa wanting to elope. It’s not his fault, Gracie. It’s his mother’s fault.”

  “You think it’s not? He could host their wedding at the inn if he wanted to.” Gracie turned her back and bustled away.

  “See? She’s furious with me. Can I see your business plan?”

  Their gazes locked again. “Why? You want to sell the inn, not invest in it. And I have the feeling that you blame the inn for Shelly’s death.”

  It was his turn to study the traffic on the other side of the window. “Yeah. I do. And I even know that blaming the inn is stupid,” he said in a low voice. “But when you lose someone in such a senseless, random way, you just need to blame someone or something. Otherwise it doesn’t make any sense. There was only one fatality in that derailment. Why did it have to be her?”

  He turned back toward Willow, his face haggard. Her heart lurched. David was struggling, and she hadn’t helped him much the other day by getting all up in his face and making him feel guilty.

  “I can’t answer your question, David,” she said. “Bad stuff happens to good people all the time.” She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a manila folder containing a second printout of her business plan. “Here’s my plan if you want to look at it. It’s still kind of rough. I rushed it because I know Melissa wants to get married on December nineteenth. That doesn’t leave much time, you know?”

  She laid the printout on the table and pushed it in his direction.

  He didn’t pick it up. “You’re probably right about that. Even if you bought the inn today, it might take weeks before we could go to closing. So buying the inn wouldn’t really solve Melissa’s problem, would it? Not without my help, anyway.”