The Inn at Eagle Point. Sherryl Woods
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No way had this been about anything except getting even, forcing Abby to remain in contact with him, just so he could … What? Humiliate her? Date her? She hadn’t figured that part out yet.
Jess drew in a deep breath, then ran after her sister. “Abby, wait!”
Abby didn’t even slow down. In fact, she was in such a fit of temper that she’d just stormed right past her rental car. Jess finally caught up with her in the next block.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault. I know that. He just made me so furious.”
“Join the club,” Abby said dryly. “Why didn’t you tell me Trace was working at the bank and that he was involved in this? You knew, didn’t you?”
“Not when I called you,” Jess swore to her. “He hasn’t lived here in years. Right before you got here, he came by the inn to look things over. That’s the first I knew about him being back in town, much less working at the bank. I was afraid if you knew, you’d bail on me.”
Abby lifted a brow. “Don’t you know me better than that?”
“I had no idea how deep the bad blood ran between the two of you. You never said why you broke up with him. Everyone in town knew you broke his heart. What no one seemed to know was why, or if maybe he’d broken yours, too. You never wanted to talk about it. Remember, I asked about a million times until you told me if I mentioned him one more time you were going to stop calling home?”
“You really were a pest,” Abby said, but her lips quirked at the reminder. “Okay, I suppose I understand why you didn’t want to tell me I’d be dealing with a man I’d dumped.”
“Let’s not forget that I did try to tell you,” Jess reminded her. “Dad arrived home, remember?”
Abby nodded. “I remember.”
Jess extended an olive branch. “Want to go have that coffee, after all? I’ll treat.”
“With what?” Abby retorted. “Every penny you possess has to go into the inn. I’ll treat.”
Jess grinned. “Fine by me, but just so you know I’m ordering two eggs, bacon and waffles, too. My stomach was too queasy for me to eat breakfast before the meeting. Now the whole infuriating discussion has left me famished. How about you?”
“If Sally served liquor, I’d have a double shot of something, but since she doesn’t, waffles sound good,” Abby replied.
They were silent until they got to the café in the next block. When Abby reached out to open the door, Jess put her hand on top of her sister’s, then waited until Abby met her gaze. “I really am sorry for what I said.”
Abby sighed. “I know.”
Jess studied her sister, then grinned. “Bet I know something you don’t know.”
“What’s that?”
“Trace Riley still has the hots for you.”
“You’re crazy.”
Jess shook her head. “Know something else? I’m almost a hundred percent certain it works both ways.”
Abby drew herself up until her back was ramrod-straight, her expression regal and dismissive. “You could not be more wrong.”
Jess wasn’t impressed by her sister’s performance. “We’ll see.”
In fact, watching the two of them trying to deny what was obvious to any observer, might be just about the only amusing part of this entire messed-up situation.
Abby was in no mood for the interrogation that awaited her at home. Gram and Mick were going to insist on hearing every detail about the meeting, and she wasn’t sure she had the stomach for filling them in. Of course, it had occurred to her more than once that one sure way of extricating herself from the situation would be to let her father step in. Even Jess had mentioned that possibility, though she’d looked thoroughly defeated when she’d said it. Abby had known right then that she couldn’t do it.
When she got to the house, she found Mick on the porch looking more frazzled than she could ever recall seeing him. There were unidentifiable stains on his shirt, his complexion was pale and he was leaning over the railing drawing in deep breaths.
“Dad?” she asked, alarmed. “Are you okay?”
Color flooded his cheeks.
“Dad, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“With me? Nothing. It’s the girls. Both of them started complaining of headaches and looked glassy-eyed right after you left here this morning. I figured they didn’t get enough sleep last night, but your grandmother seems to think they both have the measles. She said you didn’t get them vaccinated.”
“That’s right—at the time the thinking was that the MMR vaccine might overwhelm an immature immune system, and there was even a theory it caused autism. I didn’t want to take the risk. How are they now?”
“They’re asleep, so I came out here for a couple of minutes.”
“You probably ought to shower and change your clothes,” she said, astounded by the obvious signs that he’d pitched in and helped. “I’ll go up and take over from Gram. I’m sure she could use a break, too. I wish you’d called me.”
“We agreed that the meeting at the bank was too important to be interrupted. Besides, we’ve both had plenty of experience with sick kids before. They weren’t in any danger,” he said defensively.
“I know that. Thanks for taking care of them.”
“Part of the job,” he said with a shrug. “You want to tell me how the meeting went?”
“I really want to check on the girls first.”
He nodded. “Of course you do. You need anything, holler.”
Inside, she was on her way upstairs when she met her grandmother coming down. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with all this. If I’d had any idea they’d even been exposed to measles, I wouldn’t have brought them down here to visit.”
“Pretty hard to keep children from getting sick when they’re around other kids. Tricky with two of them, especially. It’s a good thing your father was here. Did you see him?”
“He’s on the porch. I think seeing them sick rattled him more than he wants to let on.”
“No one wants to see someone they love in pain,” Gram said. “Your father’s no tougher than the rest of us on that score.”
“Well, as soon as I’ve looked in on the girls, I’ll come down and make you both some lunch or some tea, whatever you want.”
Upstairs, she changed quickly into shorts and a blouse, then slipped into Connor’s old room and noted the pile of dirty sheets beside the door. She’d take those downstairs with her and get them into the washer. Kneeling between the twin beds, she was able to put a hand on each girl’s forehead. They were feverish, but not burning up. For the moment, they seemed to be resting comfortably, oblivious to the itching that was bound to set in soon given the spreading rash on their skin.
“Love you, babies,” she whispered, then rose and picked up the sheets and took them down to the laundry room off the kitchen. Gram was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, Mick across from her with a beer.
“They okay?” her father asked, his gaze filled with real concern.
“Sound asleep,” she said. “How about lunch? Have either of you eaten?”
“I could eat a sandwich,” Mick replied. “Ma, what about you?”
“Maybe some of that potato soup I made yesterday,” she said. She started to stand up.
“Sit,” Abby ordered. “I can fix a sandwich and warm up some soup. Dad,