Just a Whisper Away. Lauren Nichols
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Morgan reentered the spacious dining room and said gruffly, “And I’d prefer to eat that meal while it’s hot.” Crossing one of the long Persian rugs on the gleaming hardwood, he handed the cordless handset to Abbie. “It’s for you,” he said brusquely. “Guess who?”
Feeling a rush of nerves, she accepted it and stepped away from the table. She didn’t have to guess. The red blotches on her father’s cheeks told her that the next voice she heard would be Jace’s low baritone.
“You two go ahead and start,” she murmured. “I’ll be right back.” Then she stepped into the pretty oak kitchen and raised the receiver to her ear. In the background, scattered laughter and conversation mingled with bouncy country music. “Hello?”
“Sorry for interrupting your dinner,” he said, and Abbie knew instantly that he was either put off by something her father had said, or he hadn’t wanted to make the call in the first place. “I won’t keep you long.”
“No problem, we hadn’t started yet.”
“Good. I just called to ask when you’re free to discuss the publicity for the Friends dinner. As you said, Easter isn’t far away.”
Abbie drew a breath, startled by the jittery feeling in her chest. She visited jails on a regular basis, faced criminals in interrogation rooms and held her own against the legal sharks on the other side of the courtroom. Yet maintaining her poise around Jace was becoming a real problem. “I’m free anytime, so we can schedule around your day.”
“Days won’t work. I’m at the business or checking logging sites until after five. But if you’d like to have dinner somewhere or come to my place, I can arrange to be free tomorrow, Saturday after our noon closing or any night next week.”
Abbie moved deeper into the kitchen to lean against the butcher-block work island. Conversation had ceased in the dining room, and she could picture her dad doing a slow burn as he tried to eavesdrop. Not that his opinions swayed her anymore. She loved and respected her father, but she was no longer that eager-to-please, motherless teenager. “Which would you prefer?”
“Doesn’t matter. It would be more convenient if you came to the house. Then I wouldn’t have to drag a folder full of last year’s fliers and lists with me—and you wouldn’t have to squeeze a notebook in between your coffee cup and water glass.” He paused. “But maybe you’d feel more comfortable meeting me somewhere else.”
Abbie silently counted to ten. “You really enjoy baiting me, don’t you?” The truth was, she wouldn’t feel comfortable anywhere with his doubting gray gaze boring into her, but she’d signed on to help and she had no intention of bailing out.
“I’m not baiting you. I’m just trying to arrive at a meeting place, a date and a time.”
“All right,” she replied evenly. “I’ll see you at your place tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. How do I get there?”
Her father’s stern voice came from the dining room. “Abbie, we’d like to say the blessing soon.” But she didn’t answer.
“I’m in the book. It’s a log house outside of town on Maxwell Road. You’ll know it when you see it. There’ll be sap buckets hanging on the maple trees.”
He was gathering sap? For maple syrup? Despite the fact that his work revolved around trees and timber, she wouldn’t have thought he’d be interested in that sort of thing. Or maybe the interest wasn’t his, she thought. Maybe he was gathering it for someone else. Someone female.
An illogical pinch of jealousy bit her and, annoyed, Abbie shook it off. He was entitled to a life. Giving him her virginity fourteen years ago didn’t give her any special hold on him—not that she wanted one. He was too stiff and unyielding. Too…something.
“I’ll find it,” she replied, still curious about the music and noise in the background, still wondering where he was calling from. “I’ll see you at seven.”
When she walked into the dining room a moment later, her father’s cheeks were still red, and Miriam was wearing a wary and confused look. Abbie took her seat, her father said the blessing and she began filling her plate.
Her dad extended the platter of sliced ham. “What did he want?”
Abbie took a slice, then drizzled a bit of raisin sauce over it. “I’m helping with the Friends Without Families Easter dinner.”
“What does that have to do with him?”
“Jace is on the board of the local food bank, and they’re organizing the event.”
Abbie caught the sharp surprise in Miriam’s eyes. She’d wondered if Miriam had been playing matchmaker when she suggested getting involved in the project, because she’d asked about that kiss. But apparently, her stepmother-to-be had been as clueless about Jace’s involvement as Abbie had.
Smiling, but speaking firmly, Abbie glanced at her father again. “We’re working on publicity together. I’m seeing him tomorrow night.”
His eyes went dead and he sent her a long, steady look that was easy to interpret. You’re thirty-three years old, and I can’t tell you what to do anymore. But this does not please me.
Forty minutes later, when her dad had returned to the family room off the formal living room to read the evening paper, and she and Miriam were straightening the kitchen, Miriam sent Abbie a skeptical look. “Want to tell me what’s going on between you and your dad?”
Abbie met her eyes for a moment, then returned the salt and pepper shakers to the cupboard beside the built-in microwave. She wiped a damp dishcloth over the pale blue countertops. “He didn’t tell you about Jace and me?”
“When I asked about the kiss at the Mardi Gras party, he muttered something about ancient history. But from his mood tonight—and that phone call—I’m thinking that it’s not so ancient.” She smiled. “I don’t mean to pry—truly. Your business is your business. I’d just rather not spend my honeymoon with a grumpy bear without knowing why he’s grumpy.”
Abbie rinsed the cloth then draped it over the divider in the stainless double sink. Her dad hadn’t gotten bullheaded and left the table after Jace’s call, and he’d complimented Abbie on the meal. But conversation had been strained despite Miriam’s best efforts to shake her father out of his funk. “It’s a long story,” she murmured.
Miriam smiled. “They’re my favorite kind. I don’t have anything to do for a while, and we both know that in a matter of seconds, your dad will be reading the newspaper through his eyelids.”
Abbie glanced toward the doorway leading to the dining room and the living and family rooms beyond. She wasn’t ashamed of what had happened with Jace all those years ago. And she didn’t mind telling Miriam about it because she was easy to talk to and they’d already begun to form a relationship based on mutual admiration and respect. But now that the tension in the house was ebbing, she didn’t want to be discussing that night in the gazebo if her father came in. This was his home, he’d be getting married in two days and he didn’t need to get all worked up again.
Miriam seemed to read her mind. “Know what? I was about to suggest we have another cup of tea, but I don’t think either of us is all that thirsty.”
Abbie waited through her pause.
“When your dad picked me up after work, he said he’d had a horrific day. I’m going to tell him that you’re driving me home. Unless you’d rather not?”
Abbie knew she meant, unless you’d rather not tell me the story. But at this point, she wanted to talk about it. “I’d like to drive you home. Unless Dad’s not dozing and he’d prefer to do it.”
Miriam grinned. “Oh, he’s dozing, all right.”
Thirty minutes later, Abbie drove west on Maxwell Road beneath an onyx sky and a sparkling canopy of stars. She’d dropped