Kitabı oku: «Suddenly a Bride / A Bride After All: Suddenly a Bride»

About the Author

KASEY MICHAELS is a USA Today bestselling author of more than one hundred books. She has earned three starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, and has won a RITA^® award from Romance Writers of America, an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award, Waldenbooks and Bookrak awards and several other commendations for her writing excellence in both contemporary and historical novels. Kasey resides in Pennsylvania with her family, where she is always at work on her next book.

Readers may contact Kasey via her website, Kasey Michaels.com.

Suddenly

A Bride

A Bride

After All

Kasey Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Suddenly

A Bride

Kasey Michaels

Dear Reader,

In high school I worked as a bridal consultant in an upscale women’s clothing store. Then my boss went on leave of absence and I became the seventeen-year-old in charge of the entire bridal salon for one crazy summer. And I fell in love with everything to do with brides and happily-ever-afters.

There is nothing like the special glow that comes over a bride when she puts on that perfect gown. But why should that special glow be reserved for first-time brides? That’s why I created Second-Chance Bridal and Chessie Burton, a young woman who has devoted herself to second chances.

Come along as Chessie and her friends meet Elizabeth Carstairs, a prospective second-time-around bride who is far from sure about taking another trip down the aisle. How fortunate that she chose the right bridal salon.

I’m having a blast writing the books that make up this series, and I hope you’ll have a blast reading them. Oh, and I hope you’ll like the gowns I—that is, Chessie—picked out for her brides.

Kasey Michaels

To Gail Chasan,

for allowing me the pleasure of writing this series.

Chapter One

Prospective bank robbers probably cased the joint less thoroughly. Elizabeth Carstairs had driven down Chestnut Street in her five-year-old compact SUV at least six times in the past week—and three times in the past hour.

Down Chestnut, right on Sixth, right on Maple, right on Seventh, right on Chestnut. She had been going in squares rather than circles but getting just as dizzy. And each time, she slowed the car as she passed the old, Victorian three-story, painted a whimsical shade of violet with darker violet and green trim. A beautifully restored painted lady, as Elizabeth had heard such houses called, set back from the street and surrounded by clever shrubbery that drew the eye toward the house and the painted sign on the front lawn.

Second Chance Bridal. And, beneath that intriguing name, in flowing script, this further explanation: Because sometimes two (or three) is the charm.

Elizabeth now stood on the sidewalk in front of the house, having finally parked her car a block away when she’d at last convinced herself she was being an idiot. She stared at the herringbone-design gray brick walkway that led to the covered wraparound porch and the double doors set between matching bay windows displaying gowns on headless mannequins.

A bridal shop. That’s all it was. People went inside bridal salons all the time. Looked around. Didn’t always buy something. Although it was probably a foregone conclusion that the person was there to buy, because the person wouldn’t be looking at bridal gowns unless she was getting married. It wasn’t like bridal salons also sold jeans and underwear or something. If you went inside a bridal salon, it could pretty well be determined that you were there because you were going to get married. And if the salon you entered was named Second Chance Bridal, it was also reasonably certain that you weren’t exactly new to the process. Still, walking into a bridal salon was like being committed to the thing. Or, as Elizabeth was beginning to wonder about herself, like she should be committed.

No. She couldn’t do it. The part of her that wanted to do it was hiding somewhere while the part of her that was scared spitless was standing front and center, feet itching to move back down the block, to the car, to escape.

“Hi there. I’m late, aren’t I?”

Elizabeth turned toward the sound of the voice. A bouncy, bright-eyed woman of about thirty, her head a mop of wonderfully casual, light copper curls that all ended bluntly at chin level, was heading toward her, a wide smile on her face.

“Excuse me?” Elizabeth asked, tempted to look behind her, hoping the woman was talking to someone else.

The redhead was digging in her oversize shoulder bag now, obviously on the hunt for something. “I always think I’ll have enough time for lunch and at least one errand, and I’m always wrong. I should have known there’d be a line at the dry cleaners. Ten dollars for two measly blouses? Two. Remember when everything was wash-and-wear? No muss, no fuss? Whatever happened to those days?”

Elizabeth only nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. She’d found herself ironing everything again when, for years, she’d pretty much used her steam iron as a doorstop. Now everything seemed to come out of the dryer in wrinkled clumps, especially the boys’ shirts.

The woman pulled a set of keys out of her bag, along with a cell phone that she flipped open and then grimaced at, wrinkling her pert nose. “I stopped wearing a watch, thinking I could just see the time on my phone, you know? Very hip, very modern. I probably should have stuck with the watch. Yup, late. Nearly five minutes late.”

Because she was naturally polite, and because she thought it might be time she tried to say something, Elizabeth said, “Oh, but—”

Which was as far as she got before the bouncy redhead held out her hand, leaving Elizabeth no choice but to take it.

“Hi, I’m Chessie Burton. And you must be my two o’clock. What do you say we get out of this hot sun?”

“I, um, I …” Elizabeth couldn’t seem to get past Chessie’s beautiful, open, smiling face and velvet steamroller charm. “Yes, sure. It is hot, isn’t it?”

“For this early in June, yes. I think so,” Chessie said, leading the way up the gray brick path—or The Last Mile, as Elizabeth had been thinking of it. “But that’s the beauty of Pennsylvania, don’t you think? We get all four seasons. I couldn’t imagine living with such heat year-round—or never getting to see the trees turn colors in the fall. Of course, after the first snowfall I always think I’ve seen enough, thank you, and begin hoping for spring. Ah, here we go.”

Chessie had inserted one of the keys from her ring into the big brass lock and pushed open the old-fashioned door. An air-conditioned breeze rushed out at them, and Elizabeth hastened inside, drawn by both the coolness and the sweet smell of fresh cut flowers.

While Chessie flipped the sign in the front window from Closed to Open, Elizabeth looked around the high-ceilinged room made welcoming by the clever arrangement of chairs and tables that spoke more of a fancy parlor than a place of business.

“What a pretty room,” she said, pretending not to notice the glass cases displaying gloves and headpieces and ring-bearer pillows and pretty white leather-covered books with words like Our Wedding stamped on them.

“Thank you.” Chessie walked to the half-circle reception desk and flipped open an appointment book. “Hmm, that’s funny. I don’t have a two o’clock anymore. Eve marked it as canceled.” She looked at Elizabeth. “Good Lord, don’t tell me I just kidnapped you off the street.”

Maybe it was the beautiful building. Maybe it was at last being inside it rather than circling the place like some loon. Or maybe it was the comically horrified look on Chessie’s expressive face. Whatever it was, Elizabeth felt her nervousness melt away as she laughed softly.

“You didn’t kidnap me. I was … well, I thought I might be coming inside anyway. I’m Elizabeth Carstairs, by the way. I probably should have said that earlier, but—”

“But I wouldn’t let you get a word in sideways,” Chessie interrupted, nodding knowingly. “Sorry about that. I could put on a fresh pot of coffee, but I make miserable coffee. Would you like a soda? Diet or regular?”

“Regular, thanks,” Elizabeth told her, any lingering thoughts she might have of finding a way back out to the street now gone. “I don’t have an appointment, you know.”

“That’s all right. Obviously, neither have I.” Chessie opened a bottom door on what looked like an antique highboy chest but somehow housed a small refrigerator below the double top doors and pulled out two cans of soda. Opening the top doors revealed neat rows of glassware and some small dessert dishes. With swift efficiency, ice was put in the glasses, sodas were popped open and poured and pretty vanilla cookies with fruity centers were arranged on one of the dessert plates.

Chessie used the plate to motion to the Queen Anne high-back chairs arranged around a low coffee table in front of a fireplace currently fronted by a large bouquet of live flowers.

“So,” she said once they both were seated and Elizabeth was carefully putting her glass down on what looked to be a hand-crocheted lace coaster, “when’s the wedding?”

And there it was, the big question, or at least one of them. “I don’t know,” Elizabeth answered honestly, and then smiled weakly. “I haven’t really said yes yet.”

Chessie tipped her head to one side. “And you thought maybe trying on some gowns might help you make up your mind?”

Elizabeth was genuinely surprised. “You’re a mind reader?”

“No, although wouldn’t that be fun? Second-timers are a more wary lot, I’ve found, that’s all. First-timers rush in—like all fools, right? But the second time around? We tend to look a whole lot more before we leap.”

“You sound as if you’ve got experience in that area.”

“Not really. Let’s say I’m still licking wounds from an almost first time, not that they aren’t pretty well healed. My very first sale was my own never-used wedding gown.” Chessie slapped her hands against her thighs and stood up. “Come on. Let’s go play.”

“Oh, but I don’t want to waste your time,” Elizabeth protested. She noticed that she was standing up and following the woman even as she was saying the words. “I’m really not here to buy.”

“And I’m not here to sell. Well, that’s not true, is it? I own the joint, so of course I want to sell. But I don’t have any more appointments this afternoon. Only Eve has a three o’clock, and we just got several new gowns in this morning. I’m dying to see them on somebody other than myself. You’re a four?”

“Uh … yes. A four. I don’t think I’m wearing the right bra to be trying on gowns.” Not the right bra, not the right anything, considering she was clad in a simple white tank top and a plaid skort that had probably seen better days. “And sandals. Sandals aren’t quite the look, are they?”

“Mere details.” Chessie opened an ornately paneled ivory wood door, its design picked out in gold, and motioned for Elizabeth to step inside a large dressing room. There was a sort of raised stage in the middle of it and several rather full half slips hung from pegs on one wall. “You’ll find strapless bras in the top three drawers of that chest over there. We probably have your size. Shoes are on the shelving behind the door. I’ll give you a few minutes and be back with the goodies.”

Once the door was closed and Elizabeth was alone, she looked at her reflection in the three-way mirror, still not quite believing what was happening. Chessie Burton was like some friendly tidal wave washing over her, and she didn’t seem to have the will to resist.

Or maybe she really wanted to try on wedding gowns?

“And how are you going to know if you don’t try?” she asked her reflection. Her reflection stuck its tongue out at her.

She found a strapless push-up bra in the second drawer and quickly stripped down to put it on before sliding out of her sandals and into a pair of white backless heels that made her doubly aware that all she was wearing were the bra and her hip-hugging underpants. High heels and underwear. Now, there was a look.

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip on a giggle just as Chessie knocked on the door and then entered the room, carrying several plastic bags she held up high by their hangers. “I only brought three. It’s so easy to feel overwhelmed. And only the ivory and the blush. With your fair skin and hair, I think white would just wash you out, and who needs that?”

“I’ve already worn white. With twin boys at home, I really don’t qualify anymore, anyway.”

“I doubt one first-time bride in fifty does these days. But as Eve says, if you can wait the year or more it seems to take to hire the hall and plan a wedding without ripping each other’s clothes off, well, then you probably shouldn’t be getting married in the first place. In fact, that should have been my first clue.”

“My pregnancy test strip turned positive the morning of my wedding. I don’t know if the white gown made me look pale or if it was the morning sickness,” Elizabeth said, no longer blushing at the memory. “I told Jamie when my father handed me off to him at the altar.”

Chessie had unzipped the first bag and paused in lifting the gown out of it. “My God, what did he do?”

Now Elizabeth did blush. “Let’s just say it was a good thing we had a videographer at the ceremony, because Jamie always said he didn’t remember much of anything after that. Eight months later we had the twins. It was … a busy year.”

“But a happy one, I can tell. Okay, here’s the first one. It’s a mermaid skirt, so you’re going to have to step into it. I don’t think it’s your style. You’re more wholesome than daring, I’d say, but everyone has to try on a mermaid skirt at least once, right?”

Elizabeth eyed the gown warily. “It looks rather … formfitting.”

“And you’ve got the form to fit it, you lucky dog. I can’t believe you carried twins. How old are they?”

“Danny and Mikey? They just turned seven. We only moved here around Thanksgiving of last year, so I’m still pretty much at a loss as to what to do with them now that school is out for the summer. They keep me pretty busy and—Oh, good Lord. Is that me?”

The gown fit her like the proverbial glove. She seemed to go in at all the right places and out at some mildly impressive other places. The material was beautiful, the lace exquisite, the skirt that flared out just at her knees a marvel of engineering. And she felt like a complete fraud.

“It certainly is all you. What do you think?”

“I think I should probably leave the glamour to someone who feels more confident in pulling it off.”

“Agreed. Yet you’d be surprised at how many brides feel strapless and mermaid are the only way to go these days. Have you thought about T-ball?”

Elizabeth half shimmied out of the unsuitable gown, then rested a hand on Chessie’s shoulder as she carefully stepped clear of it. “Excuse me?”

“For your boys,” Chessie told her as she hung up the gown once more, zipping the bag as if to say “well, that didn’t work.” “Baseball, you know? This entire area is very big on youth baseball. The younger kids, like your Danny and Mikey, often hit from a sort of rubber tee. T-ball, get it? Or maybe they’re old enough to have real pitchers. You’d have to check.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms against her bare stomach, hugging tight her insecurities, as well as memories she still had trouble facing when they slammed into her unexpectedly. “Oh. Baseball. I don’t know a thing about sports. Jamie bought the twins baseball gloves and these cute little footballs while they were still in the hospital nursery. He was so excited to think about teaching his boys how to play ….”

She could feel Chessie’s eyes on her for a moment, but then the other woman tactfully turned back to the clear plastic bags and unzipped another one. “I think this one will be more your speed.”

“Somewhere between slow and stop, huh?”

“Oh, I like you,” Chessie said with a grin. “Just scrunch down for this one and lift up your arms. I’ll guide you to the armholes.”

Once more Elizabeth found herself almost mindlessly obeying, standing up again as she emerged from the yards and yards of tea-stained material to look at her reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, yes. I thought so,” Chessie said with some satisfaction. “It’s a perfect fit except for being just a little bit long. Step up on the podium so you get the full effect of the hemline.”

Elizabeth did as she was told. The gown felt comfortable, like something she’d owned for years and didn’t even have to think about when she was wearing it. But the way it looked, the way she looked …

She ran her fingertips along the modestly scooped neckline, the lovely cap sleeves that followed the cut of the scoop. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat as her eyes traveled down the front of the gown to the simple Empire waistline, the soft A-line skirt. She turned sideways to see there was a small sweep train on the gown that was all clean lines, no frills in the cut of it. Which made the clever use of lace elegant and not fussy.

“What … what is it made of?” she asked when she could find her voice.

“Silk crepe. Comfy, isn’t it? And that’s alençon lace on the bodice and in those sort of appliqués on the skirt and hem. Louis the Fourteenth, I think it was, called it the queen of laces. I love it because it’s so rich yet not showy. I mean, you don’t need sparkles when you’ve got alençon—just those few pearls stitched here and there. Oh, right, pearls. Wait here a second.”

Elizabeth nodded rather numbly as Chessie sped out of the room, obviously a woman on a mission, and lifted the skirt slightly at either side as she turned this way, that way, attempting to find something wrong with the gown.

But there was nothing. It was perfect. The gown had been made for her. It was her gown.

Her bottom lip began to tremble and she bit down on it, trying to hold on to her shredding composure.

“I remember seeing something like this in the photograph of the gown. Bend down so I can get this over your head,” Chessie said as she reentered the room. The next thing Elizabeth knew she was wearing a long rope of beautiful ivory pearls Chessie had wrapped once high around her neck before the length of the rope fell over her bodice and extended an inch or two past her waist. “Perfect! Nothing on your head—as if you’d need anything with that gorgeous blond hair of yours. No gloves, no bracelets. I’d say carry two or three long-stemmed calla lilies, their stems wrapped in simple ivory silk ribbon, but that’s it. Utter simplicity, complete elegance, a perfect second wedding.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were stinging now and she blinked quickly, doing her best to hold back the tears.

“We could try the third gown. We could try another ten gowns, twenty. But this is it, Elizabeth. You can’t deny it. This is your gown. I knew it the minute I saw you standing on the pavement. Am I good, or what? No, don’t answer that. I’ve got a big enough head as it is. Now let’s talk about the groom.”

And Elizabeth, who made it a point never to show her emotions in public, burst into tears.

Ten minutes later, with Eve and her bride now tucked away in the large dressing room, Chessie and Elizabeth were upstairs in Chessie’s living quarters, facing each other from a matched set of chintz love seats divided by a glass-topped coffee table.

“Better now?” Chessie asked, tucking her legs up under her on the cushions.

Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes with the last of the several tissues she’d employed after Chessie had shoved a box of them in her face. “Better enough to feel really, really embarrassed, you mean? Then, yes, I’m fine. I don’t know what happened down there.”

Chessie pulled a face. “I do. I opened my big mouth and inserted my size-nine foot. You told me right off the top that you weren’t sure you were going to say yes to the guy. Richard was it?”

“Yes, Richard. And he’s the dearest man,” she added quickly, hastening to defend him. “He’s kind and generous and gentle and …”

“Boring?”

“No! Richard is anything but boring. The boys and I live with him, you know.”

Chessie took a drink from her glass. “There’s nothing wrong with that. But, hon, your reaction downstairs? Maybe living with and marrying are two different things? I mean, fun’s fun and all of that, but marriage is a pretty big commitment.”

Elizabeth hastily raised her hands and waved them in front of her, as if to wipe away the last few moments of conversation. “Let me start over. I work for Richard. I work for him, and the boys and I live in his guesthouse. Better?”

“Definitely clearer,” her new friend said, smiling. “So what sort of work do you do for the guy?”

Elizabeth was feeling more confident now, with the subject of marriage at least temporarily shelved. “Richard’s a writer. He’s never married, lives alone and would probably starve to death without realizing it if someone didn’t take care of him. That’s how it began, with me answering his ad for part-time employment. He didn’t ask for skills, and since I really don’t have any outside of taking care of a house and making a fairly memorable pot roast, I seemed to fit the bill. But it was clear from the outset that Richard needed more than just someone to pick up after him and prepare a few meals.”

“I think I’m getting the picture. The creative genius who forgets to eat and walks around for hours with his glasses on top of his head, thinking he’s lost them?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Pretty much like that, yes, when he’s deep into a book. I’d thought I’d just come and go, with him not even realizing I’d been there. But often we talked about things, about his work. Within a week he’d found out I was renting an apartment with the boys, and he’d convinced me that boys need green grass to play on and their mother within earshot whenever possible. The next thing I knew I was a salaried, full-time employee, and the boys and I were installed in the rooms above his garages. They’re very large garages.”

“How convenient for him—that is, for all of you. Sounds like this Richard of yours is pretty wealthy. I mean, garages—plural.”

“There was family money, he told me, but he’s also quite successful on his own. His books are wonderful. He runs his ideas past me now, using me as a sounding board, I guess you’d say, since he used to bounce ideas off Sam The Dog—that’s his dog’s name—but Sam isn’t a very harsh critic. As he had me take on more and more of what he calls his scut work, Richard hired a new housekeeper so that now I’m strictly his personal assistant. Except for Sunday pot roast, of course.”

“Can’t forget the memorable pot roast,” Chessie said, lifting her soda glass in a small toast. “So what does an author’s personal assistant do?”

Elizabeth knew that Chessie wanted to keep her talking, keep her mind off what had happened downstairs, and she was more than willing to go along with that idea.

“Oh, I run errands, balance his checkbook, answer a lot of fan mail, fight with his publicist over proposed interviews and photo shoots he never wants to do, do Internet research for him, proof his pages once he’s ready for someone else to see them. And I’ve even come up with an idea or two for him. Richard swears he doesn’t know how he ever produced a single word without me. It’s … it’s very exciting—especially since, as I already told you, I have no formal training of any kind. Richard says I have a natural good ear, whatever that is.”

“It all sounds like a dream job. And Richard doesn’t mind the boys?”

Elizabeth lowered her head slightly. “I don’t think he notices them much on a day-to-day basis. But he certainly doesn’t mind them. It’s, as you’d imagine, a very large property. The boys have lunch with Richard regularly, once a week, and he asks about their schoolwork and what they want to be when they grow up—things like that. He bought them an entire array of those interactive electronic games, the complete systems with all the bells and whistles, and then gave them each new computers and flat-screen television sets for their rooms. For Christmas, he gave the three of us a week in Florida and passes to all the theme parks, even though he couldn’t come with us. The twins think he’s Santa Claus and Bill Gates, all tied up with a ribbon around his neck.”

“Not a lot there not to love, huh?”

“No, there’s not,” Elizabeth agreed, once more not quite meeting Chessie’s eyes. “He is … a bit older than I am.”

Chessie seemed to sit up straighter, as if coming to attention. “Oh, yes? How much older? Ten years? Fifteen?”

“Seventeen.” Elizabeth lifted her chin. “But that just makes him more stable, more dependable. And … and we have so much in common.”

“Yes. You both make sure Richard is well taken care of,” Chessie said, and then winced. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I don’t even know the man. But I think I see where this is going. Richard has found what he thinks is his muse, and you’ve found a secure home and probably a pretty good future for the twins. Am I right?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“You tell me. I’m not the one who burst into tears downstairs.”

Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. “I know, I know. But marrying Richard is so very logical.” She dropped her hands into her lap and looked at Chessie. “Jamie and I married when we were halfway through college, and as I told you before, I was already pregnant with the twins. I hadn’t planned to leave school, but the pregnancy changed all of that, for both of us. Jamie worked at a job he hated and went to weekend college to finish his bachelor’s degree. Everything was a struggle, but that was all right, because we had the boys. We had each other. Young love, you know? And then, just when he’d found a great job and we finally were seeing the end of the student loans and formula and diaper bills, Jamie got sick.”

She turned her head, her hands forming into fists she batted together as if to beat away the anger she still felt at the unfairness of it all. The anger and the loss and the terror and the cruel, twisting grief that had mentally and physically pushed her to her knees at Jamie’s graveside that last awful day. The long, sleepless nights, the responsibilities that never stopped, the loneliness that had at last turned her grief to some sort of stony acceptance.

“I’m so sorry, Elizabeth,” Chessie said quietly. “So very sorry.”

“So am I. We were so in love. And then we were so … tired. So stressed all the time. And just … and just when we thought we could find what we’d seemed to have lost in those diapers and bills, those constant pressures, it was all snatched away, and I felt as if my life was over. I care very much for Richard, and he cares for me. It’s … it’s safer.”

“He knows you don’t love him?”

Elizabeth pulled a fresh tissue from the box sitting on the cushion beside her. “Oh, I do love him. And he loves me. In our own way. We’re very good friends. We’re … compatible.”

“And he’s all right with that? You’re all right with that?”

“Sometimes,” Elizabeth said defensively, and then sighed. “And sometimes … well, sometimes maybe not so much.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you and Richard love each other—but you’re not in love with each other? You’re very good friends and compatible. Do you think people really can be that way? That it’s safer? Surely somebody gets hurt, sooner or later? Somebody breaks the bargain, and falls in love for real?” Then Chessie held up her hands. “Hey, but not my problem, not my business to interfere, right? I’m sure you’re doing some very heavy, sensible thinking about all of this.”

“If we can call trying on wedding gowns to see what happens even the least bit sensible.”

“Oh, I don’t know. How did it make you feel trying on that gown?”

Elizabeth felt a ridiculous giggle prickling at the back of her throat. “Beautiful, passionate, seductive, exciting. I’d have married it tomorrow, no hesitation.” Then she sighed. “But I’m no closer to knowing what I should do about Richard’s proposal than I was this morning or last week.”

“Then you know what, Elizabeth? Forget it for now. Tell Richard you need more time, and just … forget about it. School only let out a couple of days ago, you’ve got the twins home and need to do something to keep them occupied for the summer, all sorts of things to do. Am I right?”

“I only let them game, as they call it, two hours a day. They’re already telling me they’re bored. And, believe me, bored twins of a certain age—of any age, I’m beginning to think—can be like ticking time bombs. Yes, I need to devote some time to them. And Richard leaves in a few days for a five-city book tour and won’t be home for a week. Yes, you’re right. It’s not like either Richard or I are in any sort of huge rush.”

“Yeah, the test didn’t show up positive this morning,” Chessie said, grinning.

“Hardly. The only time I’ve been in Richard’s bedroom was when I was in charge of changing the sheets. Oh, I shouldn’t be saying these things. Why have I said any of these things, come to think of it?”

Chessie shrugged as she got to her feet. “It’s me. I seem to have this power over people. They look at me and the next thing I know, I’m learning their life stories. But the thing is, I love it. Maybe bridal consultants are the female version of bartenders? Now, before you go, let me call my cousin Will.”

Elizabeth got to her feet, gathering up the used tissues and shoving them deep in her pockets. “Your cousin?”

“Yes, Will. William J. Hollingswood, Esquire, to be formal about the thing. He’s coaching a youth baseball team this summer, which is probably why I thought about T-ball earlier. Let me see if he has room for two more on the roster. If that’s okay?”

“It is, but we’re not Allentown residents, if that means anything. Richard’s house is in Saucon Valley.”

Chessie was already dialing a number on her phone. “Nifty neighborhood. But it doesn’t matter. Will’s is a sort of special team, just created last week. The twins will be fine. Oh, darn, it went straight to voicemail.” She put down the phone. “Tell you what, Elizabeth. You give me your number and I’ll call you once I’ve got ahold of Will.”

Elizabeth took one of Richard’s cards from her purse and turned it over, writing her cell-phone number on the back. “I’ve only got a cell, but you can try Richard’s number if I don’t answer. And I can’t thank you enough, Chessie. I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea about how to sign the boys up for anything like this.”

“No problem,” Chessie said, turning over the card. “Richard Halstead, novelist. Nope, don’t recognize the name. But don’t ever tell him I said that.”

“I won’t. He writes more for men, I guess. Although he certainly has his share of female fans. Oh, and Chessie? Since Richard will be out of town all next week, and the housekeeper never minds watching the boys, would you … that is, I’d love for you to be my guest for dinner one night.”

“Only if we go dutch treat,” Chessie said. “And we’ll take Eve along, and maybe Marylou—God, we have to take Marylou if she isn’t busy with one of her projects. A real girls’ night out. I’m guessing you don’t have many of those.”

“No, I don’t,” Elizabeth said as the two of them descended the stairs to the first floor once more. “Thank you, Chessie. I’m really, really glad you kidnapped me.”

Once Elizabeth had gone, Chessie pulled her cell phone from her pocket and punched in numbers as she headed for her office, away from Eve’s always listening ears.

“Will? Yeah, yeah, sorry for hanging up on you a couple of minutes ago, but I just had an idea when I heard your voice, an idea that I think is even better than my original idea, which wasn’t all that bad in its own altruistic way, by the way. Although this one could almost be altruistic if you didn’t look at it too hard, and—no, I have not been drinking. You know I don’t drink. Just listen, okay?”

Her cousin’s answer was short and to the point.

“Okay, so court convenes again in two minutes and we all know the legal world can’t go on without you, except that it’s going to, once your suspension kicks in. I’ll talk fast, you listen faster. I’ve got twins, boys, seven years old. They need a youth baseball team.”

She pulled the phone from her ear for a few moments while Will gave his opinion of youth baseball teams.

“Right, gotcha. A sin and a shame and a totally over-the-top reaction to your, I’m sure, perfectly calm and reasonable arguments to the judge. No, you’re never snarky, especially in court.” She laughed. “Yes, now I’m being snarky. But my heart goes out to you, it really does. Will you take them? Good. First practice tomorrow morning at nine, got it. Yeah, I know the field. They’ll be there. Now, for the second idea. Their mother is a widow, and she needs some fun.”

This time she rolled her eyes as she held the phone away from her ear for a few more moments.

“No, she does not bark. No, she does not have a tail. Although the same can’t be said for the last blind date you threw at me, buddy boy, so cut that out. You owe me one. You even said so, and I’m collecting, all right? And she’s gorgeous, Will, she really is, but maybe a little sad, a little confused.”

Chessie sighed as Will tried yet again to hang up on her. “Yes, yes, court awaits. No, I don’t want you to be held in contempt again. And no, she’s not a head case. I said confused, not certifiable. That would be the guy you set me up with at your secretary’s wedding reception, remember? Look, I’m not asking you to marry the woman, sport. I just want you to pay her a little attention, that’s all. Maybe take her to dinner a couple of times.

“Why? Because she doesn’t believe in romance anymore, that’s why. I think she’s afraid of it, I don’t think she thinks she deserves it and I think she’s going to make a big mistake if someone doesn’t remind her that her hormones are just resting, not gone. Can you do that? Pay her some attention? Nothing heavy, just flirt a little?”

She heard the bell over the front door of the shop ring to announce another customer. Still holding on to the phone, she began making her way to the reception area as Will pressed her to be more specific in her instructions.

“You want me to tell you how to be charming? Just for God’s sake, don’t take her to bed. I only want you to wake her up a little, you handsome bastard, you,” she ended, suddenly realizing there might be a problem if her plan worked too well. “I mean it, Will. Shake her up a bit so she remembers she’s not just a mom, but that she’s still young and desirable, and then back off, the way you always do. Nicely! And then we’re even, honest. Well, as long as you don’t try to throw any more blind dates my way. Agreed?”

She smiled at his answer. “Oh, you egotistical pig—I knew I could count on you.”

Chapter Two

Elizabeth pulled her small SUV into a parking space between a battered family van and a shiny black Mercedes-Benz and cut the engine. They were here. At the ball grounds … ball fields … something like that. And twenty minutes late, thanks to a wrong turn off the highway.

“I think that’s your team down there,” she said, pointing straight ahead at the windshield. “Ready?”

The silence from the backseat was deafening.

“I said,” she repeated, unsnapping her seat belt and turning around, “are you ready?”

Mikey took one hand off the handheld game he was playing and held it up, his index finger extended. “Soon as I beat this level, Mom, okay?”

“You’ll never beat that level. You always end up zapped,” his brother said. “You die like a dog, every time.”

Elizabeth reached back and grabbed the game. “Die? Who said you could play games where people die?”

“Oh, Mom,” Mikey whined as the game made a sound much like a dying whistle, followed by a splat. “Now you did it. And nobody dies, doofus, so why did you say that? The game is rated E, for everyone, just like it says on the box.”

Elizabeth looked at the screen and saw an exasperated-looking duck walking out of a pond on large webbed feet, shaking its feathers and glaring at her accusingly. “I’m sorry, Mikey,” she said, handing the game back to him. “Um … better duck next time?”

“Good one, Mom,” Danny told her. “Can we go home now?”

It had been a fight all morning. First to get them both up, then to get them to throw on shorts and tops and tie their sneakers—after they’d found their sneakers. Danny’s left one had been in the freezer and, no, she didn’t ask who had done that, because she already knew. They couldn’t decide what they wanted to eat, they needed to brush their teeth—as if either of them ever did that without first being threatened.

Elizabeth got out of the car and opened the rear side door, motioning to the boys to hurry up. “Today, people. Anyone would think you two don’t want to play baseball.”

“We don’t,” Danny said, grinning at her, his smile minus his top two front teeth. “But Richard said we should humor you.”

“Oh, he did, did he? Do either of you know what that means? That you should humor me?”

Mikey at last undid his seat belt and slid down off the safety booster seat, Elizabeth holding on to his arm as he jumped to the ground. “Not me. I only know that Richard said it’s easier to humor women than it is to fight them. Unless you wanted us to eat spinach or something.”

Elizabeth’s annoyance melted like spring snow under the warm, gap-toothed smiles of her sons. Boys could get away with murder, just with their smiles. Including boys who were well into their forties. It was simply impossible to stay angry with any of them.

She made shooing motions with her hands, aiming both boys toward the grassy incline that led down to the small ball field … ball court … whatever.

As she followed them, Elizabeth quickly realized she had already made at least two mistakes, and the boys weren’t even officially signed up yet. One, they were the only children wearing shorts, and two, they were the only children not carrying gloves. No, mitts. She remembered that word from Jamie. They were called baseball mitts.

Danny and Mikey stopped a good distance from the other children and turned to look at her, their identical big blue eyes that were so much like their father’s gazing at her in mute appeal.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” she said, stepping between them and taking their hands. “Let’s look for Mr. Hollingswood, all right? Chessie told him we’d be here.”

She walked closer, careful to stay to the left of the long white chalk line that seemed to mark the beginning of the playing area, heading toward a low wooden bench and three men who were watching as the children threw balls at each other. Elizabeth would have thought that they were playing catch, except it didn’t seem that anyone was actually catching anything. There was just a lot of throwing and then chasing after the ball going on, except for the trio of boys who were huddled together, examining a worm one of them was holding.

Chessie had said her cousin was a hunk; that was how she’d described him. Elizabeth thought that wouldn’t be much of a help until she got closer to the three men. Then it got very easy to pick him out.

He was taller than the other two men wearing matching bright blue T-shirts with the word Eagles stitched on the back at shoulder level. He had none of the softness around the gut the others had. He was wearing classy tan Bermuda shorts as opposed to their baggy jeans, and he had his baseball cap on backward, the coal-black hair beneath it looking mussed in the way only great hair can.

Besides, as he raised the reflective, wraparound sunglasses he was wearing, giving her a glimpse of a pair of emerald-green eyes, and started walking toward her, he said, “Elizabeth Carstairs? Hi, I’m Will Hollingswood, Chessie’s cousin. These your boys?”

That pretty much cinched it.

“Yes, I’m Elizabeth. And,” she said, raising one hand first, and then the other, “this is Danny, and this is Mikey. Boys, say hello to Mr. Hollingswood.”

“Coach,” Will corrected quickly. “It’s shorter. Hi, boys. You like baseball?”

“No,” Mikey said, and Elizabeth gave his hand a warning squeeze, so that her son quickly added, “Thank you?”

“Close, Mikey, but not quite the answer I was hoping for,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Tell Coach you want to learn how to play baseball.”

“But I don’t,” Mikey, always honest, told her not quite as quietly.

“But we need the fresh air,” Danny piped up, always helpful. “And Mom needs the break. That’s what Richard says.”

Elizabeth looked at Will, who had now pushed his sunglasses up on his head as he gazed at her, his smile wide and white and pretty much something out of a toothpaste ad, if GQ even allowed toothpaste ads.

“They really don’t know much about sports. I’m sorry.”

“Well, this should be fun,” he said, and Elizabeth felt hot color running into her cheeks. “Do they have mitts?”

“Uh—no, they don’t. But we’ll get them in time for the next practice. Is there anything else they need?”

Danny was giving Will his full attention—sucking up, Elizabeth knew was the term for it—but Mikey had pulled an action figure from his shorts pocket and was busily turning it into a truck or something. Neither boy was paying the least bit of attention to what was going on beyond that white chalk line.

“We’ve got a list here somewhere,” Will told her, heading over to a large three-ring binder on the bench. “Did Chessie tell you to bring their birth certificates along and proof of health insurance?”

Elizabeth pulled the relevant papers from her purse. “Yes, I’ve got all of that right here. Oh, and a check for seventy dollars. Is that right?”

Will took everything from her, looking up at her as he scanned the check but then quickly sliding it into a pocket of the binder without comment. Richard had written the check, and his name was printed on it. She’d argued with him that it wasn’t necessary, but he’d insisted. Not that she was going to tell Chessie’s cousin that … or that she suspected Richard would have just as happily written a check for two months of sleepaway camp for both boys. He liked the twins. He just didn’t have the knack for interacting with them, that’s all. He’d rather buy them something; it was how Richard showed affection.

She watched as Will assembled a few papers and handed them back to her along with the birth certificates and her insurance card. “We’re a new team, what they call an in-house team, so we only play five other teams. Practices go on just about every morning at nine until our first game, which is also at nine. All the games are played on this field. The schedule and the rules are all on those papers. Six outs a side, no sliding, no stealing, no taking leads and no keeping score so we don’t bruise their little egos.”

He leaned down to be on eye-level with the twins. “And I don’t like this any more than you two do, so let’s just try to get through it together with the least amount of trauma, all right?”

He put out both hands, palms up, and the boys surprised her by grinning as they completed the low fives.

“Okay, Danny? Danny, right? Which one of you two peas in a pod is Danny?”

Danny raised his hand. “Me. I’m the good twin. I got all Excellents in Deported.”

“Deportment,” Elizabeth correctly quietly, rubbing Danny’s blond curls. She really should get the boys haircuts, but she loved their curls. Besides, they had so many years to be grown-up. “And try not to be so modest.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Elizabeth said, sighing. She’d worried that Mikey would develop a complex about his own C-pluses in deported, but since Mikey seemed very happy in his game-oriented world, she had decided not to overreact. “Should they go out on the field now?”

Will shook his head. “No, not without gloves. Not that I think they’ll catch anything, but at least they could use them to put in front of their faces if someone puts a little too much on the ball. In fact, today was really just signup day, and I think Danny and Mikey were the last two to arrive. We were just about ready to call them all in.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth nodded, thinking, Well, that was quick. And rather a shame, considering how long it had taken her just to get the boys to the field in the first place. “I guess then I’ll take them to buy gloves?”

“Rightie or leftie?” Will asked, and she had a feeling those green eyes were laughing at her.

“I beg your—oh. Rightie. Both boys. So I get them gloves that fit on their right hands, correct?”

“On their left hands. Catch with their left, throw with their right,” Will corrected. “What kind of glove are you planning to buy? Catcher’s mitt? Fielder’s glove? First baseman’s glove? And they might want their own bats, although we have some here, along with a catcher’s mask and pads. Oh, and cleats, of course. They probably should have cleats.”

She looked at him intensely, pretending not to see how absolutely perfectly good-looking he was. “And I’ll bet you think you’re speaking English, too, don’t you?”

Will lifted his hat slightly and scratched at his temple as he looked back at the two other coaches before motioning for Elizabeth to stay where she was because he’d be right back.

He walked over to the coaches, handed one of them the three-ring binder, shook hands with both men and then returned to where she and the twins were waiting. “Okay, that’s settled. Mitch and Greg have volunteered to finish up here. Let’s get these boys some equipment, all right? We can take my car.”

“Oh, but that isn’t necessary,” Elizabeth said, almost forced to run to keep up with Will’s long strides as he headed up the hill toward the parking lot, just as if her yes was assumed. “I’m sure I can ask someone at the sporting goods store to help us.”

Will turned to face her, although he didn’t halt his progress toward the parking lot, walking backward as he addressed the boys. “Who’s up for pizza after we get you guys ready to play?”

“Me!” Mikey shouted, punching one arm in the air as he danced in a circle. “Me, me, me!”

“Can I have pepperoni?” Danny asked, not yet ready to commit.

Will looked at Elizabeth. “If your mom says it’s all right.”

“Mom?”

“This is where I realize I’m beaten and give up and go along, right?” Elizabeth asked, sighing. “Yes, all right. Did Chessie put you up to this?” she asked him quietly as they reached the parking lot. Will was heading toward the black Mercedes, which didn’t surprise her. “Helping me with the boys, I mean.”

“Chessie? No, she didn’t ask me to help you with the boys. Well,” he added, his devastating smile back in evidence, “not exactly in those words. Let’s take my car.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Can’t. Until the boys grow another two inches, they have to ride in safety booster seats. We can follow you, though. I’m parked right here.”

Will looked at the small SUV, which was probably a toy in most men’s eyes, then to his Mercedes, and then back to the SUV. “I don’t want to lose you in traffic. How about I ride with you?”

Elizabeth did a quick mental inventory of the interior of the SUV, pretty sure there weren’t any crumpled fast-food bags or errant French fries on the floor—at least not in the front seat. “Sure,” she said brightly, too brightly. “Chessie assured me you’re trustworthy.”

“No she didn’t. Chessie may shade the truth from time to time, but she doesn’t outright lie,” Will said, leaning closer to Elizabeth so that the boys didn’t hear him. “She told me you’re gorgeous, by the way. And she’s right.”

Elizabeth backed up two steps, sure her eyes had gone wide and stupid. “You’re … you’re flirting with me?”

“Do you mind? Honesty seems to run in our family.”

She felt her head moving from side to side. Did this man, this absolutely drop-dead handsome man, just agree that he was flirting with her? Her, Elizabeth Carstairs, better known as Mom? Her? “Uh … no?”

They exchanged smiles, Elizabeth rather lost in the moment—someplace she hadn’t been in too many years to recall.

Clunk.

“Mom!”

Elizabeth watched as Will’s eyebrows shot up even as his head turned toward his car—his beautiful, black, shiny Mercedes.

“Mikey, what did you do?” she asked, already knowing the answer before she saw the SUV’s rear passenger door, its edge open against the side of the luxury car. “No! Don’t move! Don’t touch that door,” she said as she raced around the front of the SUV.

“It slipped out of my hand, Mom,” Mikey wailed before turning on Danny. “Why didn’t you catch it?”

“Coach said we don’t know how to catch, remember?” Danny shot back, and then quickly scooted into the backseat and his booster on the far side of the car. Mikey followed him, moving on a par with the speed of light.

“Hands up,” Elizabeth ordered automatically, waiting until Mikey had raised his hands above his head so that she knew she wouldn’t pinch his fingers when she shut the door. Okay, slammed the door. Then she turned, reluctantly, to see that Will was running his fingers down the side of his own back side door. “How bad is it?”

“I think we’re good,” he said, wetting his finger and rubbing the tip against the paint. “Yup, we’re good. Which is a good thing, because otherwise I was going to have to kill the kid.”

“You’d have to get in line to do that. I warn them and warn them about letting go of car doors …”

“Hey, Elizabeth, relax,” Will soothed, putting his hands on her bare upper arms. “I was kidding. It’s all right. I’m not upset. Accidents happen.”

Elizabeth tried to swallow. Her skin seemed on fire where Will’s hands were touching her, yet the rest of her body seemed to have gone icy-cold. What was wrong with her? “You … you must have children of your own. To be so understanding, I mean.”

He shook his head. “Nope, not even a dog. And no wife, either, since you asked.”

She stepped away from his unnerving touch. “I didn’t ask.”

“Not in so many words, no. But I know you’re a widow, so it seems only fair that you should know my marital status. Which is and always has been single.” He held up his left hand, fingers spread. “See? No tan line around the fourth finger, left hand. And now that we’ve got that all out of the way, are you ready to go buy some baseball equipment for these two?”

Actually, she was ready to crawl into a hole and then yank it in after her, but since he probably already knew that, she just nodded as she pulled her keys from her shorts pocket. He snagged them deftly and walked her around the car to the passenger side, opening the door for her.

She got inside. She watched him as he closed the door. She put on her seat belt. She faced front. She folded her trembling hands in her lap. Did her best to remember to breathe.

And, for the first time in too many years to remember, she let events just happen.

It was like shooting fish in a barrel, Will thought, although he’d never held a gun, and the only fish he’d ever seen arrived on his dinner plate, sprinkled with fresh parsley.

Elizabeth Carstairs was one beautiful woman. One beautiful, vulnerable woman. She had a bit of frightened doe about her, yet she was certainly take charge when it came to her sons, who seemed to know she had limits and carefully avoided them.

Will was pretty sure he could have Elizabeth in his bed without much effort and without even breaking a sweat. Except he was also pretty sure that was not what Chessie wanted him to do. All right, so he knew it wasn’t what Chessie wanted him to do. In fact, she’d probably hunt him down and strangle him if he took the flirtation business that far.

No, he was here to wake up the slumbering Widow Carstairs, make her feel desirable and female and—didn’t the woman own a mirror? Damn, she was gorgeous. Skin like honey, soft brown eyes that betrayed her every mood. She would be wise to never play poker.

Then there was that fantastic jawline that the style of her streaky blond curls turned into a regal work of art. A tall, slim body, with curves in all the right places. And those long, straight legs. A man could easily fantasize about those legs.

What the hell was the matter with Chessie? She knew he wasn’t a saint. She sure as hell had to know he wasn’t a damn martyr. What did she think she was doing, throwing a woman like Elizabeth Carstairs into his lap?

And one more thing. Why had he wanted to punch Greg in the chops when he’d winked and made a fairly obscene pumping gesture when Will had told him he was taking Elizabeth and her sons to lunch? Greg hadn’t meant anything by it, at least nothing men didn’t think about and say to each other all the time.

It just didn’t seem right to make jokes about a woman like this one.

Will looked over at her as he stopped for a red light on MacArthur Road. She’d been quiet for the last ten minutes as they’d been pretty much stop-and-go in mall traffic. “You all right?”

“Excuse me? Oh. Oh, yes, I’m fine. You’re really being very nice.” She turned to look at him with those soulful brown eyes. “I mean, you aren’t married, you have no children of your own. And yet you’re coaching a baseball team.”

“Chessie didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

The light turned green, and Will pulled out quickly, knowing he had to get over into the right lane in order to pull into the next mall in a line of malls and other stores that took up a good two miles on both sides of MacArthur Road. “She didn’t tell you that I’m a lawyer. Defense lawyer. One with a big mouth sometimes. And, thanks to Judge Harriette ‘The Hammer’ Barker, who has a fairly perverted sense of humor, it was either she slapped me in the local lockup for repeated contempt of court, or I volunteered to take over as head coach for a new baseball team that needed one. Her grandson’s on the team, you understand. And thinking of that leaves me wondering what she’s got against her grandson.”

“So … so you didn’t want to coach the team?”

“Not even in my dreams. But I may be changing my mind.”

“Because you like teaching seven-year-old boys to play the game?”

“No, I don’t think I’d go that far. But I do like big brown eyes.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, maybe something like “Get out of my car, you pig,” unless, if he was lucky, he hadn’t pushed too far, too fast. But, thanks to the twin terrors in the backseat, Will was pretty sure he’d never know.

“You said I could have a turn. Come on, gimme!”

“I’m not done yet. I’ve still got one more life left. Hey! Let go of my arm, doofus, I have to get to the safety zone before—”

Whirrrrrrrrr … splat.

“Mom!”

Still with her gaze on Will, Elizabeth put her arm between the seats, reaching into the backseat. “Give. Now.”

“But Danny did it, Mom. It’s my game.”

“And now it’s mine. Give.”

A small red plastic game and equally small set of headphones were swiftly deposited in the glove box, and the boys in the backseat were silent for several seconds until Will heard a whispered, “See what you did? It’s all your fault.”

“Shoulda shared, Mikey,” Danny whispered back.

Elizabeth made a small sound in her throat, rather the way someone might attempt to gently shush someone who was speaking in a movie theater, and the backseat was silent once more.

“How many children are on this team of yours?” she asked him, just as if the interruption had never happened.

The question seemed to come out of left field. “Sixteen. Thirteen boys, three girls. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Except you might want to reconsider the local lockup offer. Cracking rocks or making license plates would probably look like a walk in the park after dealing with sixteen young darlings like my two back there. And don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Will pulled into a parking space near the door of the sporting goods store. “You know, you may have a point. Do you think I might have a case against The Hammer for cruel and unusual punishment?”

“I’m not a lawyer, and so far you’ve only had one day on the job, so that remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Seven-year-olds aren’t really that terrible, if you know how to handle them.”

“Oh, and how do I do that?” Will asked once they were out of the car, and Elizabeth had a firm grip on one hand of each of her twins.

“Be fair, be consistent, choose your battles,” Elizabeth told him as they crossed the driving lane and reached the sidewalk outside the store. She let go of the boys’ hands and they raced for the door, arms waving, each wanting to be the one who caused the sensor to activate the automatic doors. “And two things more. Never underestimate the inventiveness of a seven-year-old … and never let them see you sweat.”

“They can smell fear?” Will asked, one eye on the twins, who had come to an abrupt halt just inside the doors, as if they’d never been inside a sporting goods store before. Which they probably hadn’t. Poor kids.

“I’d rather say they can sense weakness. It’s one thing to try to be their friend, but there’s a line between adult and child, and you cross it at your peril. Unless you want to be treated like you were just another seven-year-old boy.”

“Not if their mom is going to take all my goodies away, no,” Will said, and watched as becoming color ran into Elizabeth’s cheeks. Yup, shooting fish in a barrel. Taking candy from a baby. And she’d think it was all her idea. “Come on,” he added, taking her hand as if it was something he did all the time, “I think the baseball equipment is over there, to the left. Boys? Follow us.”

Two hours, about two hundred fifty dollars and two pizzas later they were back at the ball fields and Will was handing Elizabeth the keys to her SUV as she joined him outside the drivers’ side of the car.

“Sticker shock wear off yet?” he asked her.

“You know they’re going to grow out of those baseball shoes before the season is over, don’t you? At least you said the hats and shirts come as part of the registration fee,” she said, smiling weakly. “But they seem more excited about the idea of playing now, don’t they?”

“I can think of something that might make them even more excited. I’ve got four box seat season tickets for the Pigs, and they’re playing at home tonight.”

“The Pigs? I beg your pardon? Don’t pigs have something to do with football?”

“That’s pigskin, another name for a football. I’m talking about the IronPigs, our local Phillies baseball farm team. We could take the boys.”

Elizabeth shifted those marvelous eyes left and right, as if searching for understanding. “Why would anyone want to be called Pigs?”

“The name wouldn’t have been my first choice, either, but it’s catching on.”

“All right, if you say so. But what’s an iron pig?”

Will thought about this for a moment. “Well. Iron pigs are what they poured steel into? Or maybe it’s a twist on pig iron? I know the name has something to do with the local Bethlehem Steel Works plant, back when steel was the largest industry around here, instead of the casino that’s operating on part of the old plant grounds now.”

“In other words, Counselor, you don’t know what an iron pig is?”

“I haven’t got a clue,” Will answered truthfully. “Does it matter?”

“To you or me? Maybe not. But do you remember being a seven-year-old boy, Will?”

Will considered this for all of five seconds. “I’ll find out. But I’m betting I’m not going to be able to discover why the mascot is a huge fuzzy brown pig named FeRROUS, and they’ll probably ask me that, too, right?”