Kitabı oku: «The Christmas Secret», sayfa 2

“Let’s check out the bedrooms,” Claire said. “This looks like the master, and I’m guessing it was the grandmother’s.”

Kristi groaned. “More doilies and plastic flower arrangements. Those must go with the bowl of plastic fruit on the dining-room table.”

Sam looked past the clutter to the flower-and-butterfly-patterned wallpaper. “After everything’s cleared out, I’ll need a day to strip the wallpaper and another day to paint. The oak floor is in good shape, though.”

Claire made more notes on the move. “This must be AJ’s room.” She shot a quick glance at Sam.

Sam hastily perused the room from the doorway and stepped back. The space was neat as a pin, almost austere compared to the grandmother’s, and even better there was no wallpaper.

“From too much personality in Grandma’s room to none in here,” Kristi said. “I get that he’s a guy, and guys usually don’t have a clue when it comes to decorating, but this room is so boring it’s painful. Doesn’t need much work, though. A fresh coat of paint and some new drapes should do it.”

The room had better be able to paint itself, Sam thought, because she wasn’t doing it. The simple fact that it was his room was enough to get her heart pounding, but what if he and his wife had lived here? Conceived their child in this bed?

“Two more rooms,” Claire said. “This must be the nanny’s.”

Sam took one look and fell in love with it. The nanny’s room was hands down the most welcoming space in the house. Although it was a typically gray late-November day in Seattle, the room felt bright, almost sunny. Strangely so, Sam thought. Right now the only occupant was a teddy bear snuggled into the corner of an overstuffed yellow upholstered armchair with a copy of Green Eggs and Ham on the seat next to him. Sam could practically hear the warm laughter that would accompany story time. On the floor next to the chair sat a basket full of colorful yarn and knitting needles, and adjacent to that a small round side table painted bright blue. On top of the table there was a vase filled with fresh-cut flowers and a quirky-looking tea service on a wooden tray, a teapot in the shape of a giant strawberry and two pink china cups and saucers. Tea for two. The nanny and AJ’s son? Sam wondered.

Claire walked into the room and admired the china. “This is so adorable. I’ve never seen heart-shaped saucers.”

Sam’s heart felt as flat as a pancake, as though the life was being squeezed out of it. She had never been entertained with tea parties, not even as a very young child. Even back then her mother hadn’t been well and although her father had dutifully provided the basics, there’d been no fun, no games, no laughter. But this woman, the nanny, had moved in here and created a personal space that both fit with the rest of the house and was yet set apart from it, and its welcome hominess gave Sam a good feeling about her.

“This room is perfect,” Kristi said. “Even the wallpaper works in here. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Neither would Sam.

“Excellent.” Claire made a note of that. “That leaves the nursery, which is right here across the hall. Should we take a look?”

Sam nodded a silent affirmative, and cast one last look at the nanny’s room before reluctantly following her partners to the room across the hall. Earlier when they’d been in the kitchen, she had deliberately avoided looking outside because she was emotionally unprepared to see AJ’s son. And now she wasn’t ready for this.

The nursery, the only room in the house with a bright modern flair, had been painted a fresh shade of pale green. The child-size trundle bed was covered with a cozy patchwork quilt and heaped with stuffed animals. The green-and-yellow polka-dot upholstery on the armchair and ottoman coordinated with the multitoned green-and-yellow-striped drapes on the window next to them. Had AJ chosen these colors, this furniture? Did he sit here with his son? She didn’t know why, but she found it impossible to picture him as a father. Or had his wife decorated the room before she left? Did she still visit? Did the child live with her part of the time?

“Sam?” Claire’s gentle tone eased her out of her daze. “I was saying the bedrooms shouldn’t take long, since the nanny’s room and nursery are fine as they are.”

“Sorry, and yes, you’re right. The other two bedrooms won’t take long. I guess we should start with the grandmother’s since no one’s living in it. I’ll have to move the furniture away from the walls to get at the wallpaper.”

“You’ll need help with that,” Claire said. “I’ll get Marlie to call the movers as soon as I get back to the office this afternoon and find out when they’re available. We’ll have them do the room when they rearrange things downstairs.”

Kristi stowed her camera in her shoulder bag. “I’m going home to download the photographs I took today and spend the afternoon working on a color scheme. I want to be home when Jenna gets out of school because yesterday my sweet darling daughter had a boy there when I got home.”

“Ah, the teenage years,” Claire said with a grin. “I remember them well. Except I didn’t have a boyfriend,” she added quickly.

Neither did Sam. She’d never invited a friend home, either, and wouldn’t have dreamed of bringing home a boy she was interested in. He would have made a run for it.

“I remember those years, too.” Kristi sighed. “I also remember what teenage boys are like. Hormones permanently in overdrive. That’s kind of how I got to be a mom so young.”

“You were eighteen when your daughter was born,” Sam said because she felt she should say something reassuring. “Jenna’s only thirteen.”

Kristi rolled her eyes. “Thirteen going on twenty-something.”

“And the boy?” Claire asked.

“She says he’s fifteen, which, knowing my daughter, means he’s probably closer to sixteen.”

Claire put an arm around Kristi. “Young girls always date up. Besides, Jenna’s a good kid with a good head on her shoulders. I’d give a lot to have one just like her.”

From the time the three of them had become business partners, Claire had talked about how desperately she wanted children. Now that her marriage was on the rocks, the likelihood of that was slimmer than ever. Sam didn’t allow herself to think about a family, or the future. It was too hard. Hell, just seeing another little boy’s bedroom had sent her mind racing back into the past.

What if …?

If only …

Don’t go there!

“Do you have plans for the rest of the day, Sam?”

She gave herself another mental shake. “Ah, yes. Stop at the drugstore to pick up my mother’s medication. Grab a few groceries.” Precious few after she paid for the prescription.

“How is she?” Kristi asked. “Any better?”

Sam wished she hadn’t said anything. Although Claire and Kristi had never met her mother, she had reluctantly told them about her. There were days when Sam couldn’t leave her alone, and her business partners needed to know why.

She shrugged. “A little better, I think.” She hoped, but she didn’t want to talk about her mother. “After dinner I’ll go over my notes and come up with a timeline for getting all this work done. I’ll email it to both of you and we can go over it at our meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent,” Claire said. “I’ll do two appraisals—one for the house as it is now and another that will include all the proposed updates. We can present the package to … the client.” She eyed Sam over the top rim of her dark-framed glasses. “Then we’ll take it from there.”

The three of them trooped down the back stairs to the kitchen, Sam last and desperately hoping to avoid another encounter with “the client.” In the kitchen they were greeted by an aproned silver-haired woman, who stood at the stove stirring a large pot. The savory-scented steam rising from it reminded Sam’s stomach it was almost lunchtime.

“Hello, girls. I’m Annie Dobson, the nanny.”

“Nice to meet you.” Claire shook the woman’s hand and stepped back. “What are you cooking? It smells wonderful.”

“Homemade chicken noodle soup. It’s a favorite around here.”

Sam’s stomach rumbled hungrily.

“We’ll get out of your way so you can have lunch,” Claire said. “Is Mr. Harris … I mean, is AJ around?”

“He had to go out, so he took young William with him. Would you like me to pass along a message?”

So, his son’s name was William.

“Yes, that would be great. Please let him know I’ll call as soon as we have a work plan in place. I’m Claire, by the way. This is Kristi, the interior decorator, and Sam’s our carpenter.”

“Nice to meet you. It’ll be nice having some young women around here for a change, especially a lady carpenter.” Her blue-eyed gaze gave Sam a good going-over. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“Um …” Sam searched her memory for an image of the woman. Had she worked for the Harris family when Sam had renovated their corporate offices? She was a nanny, so unlikely. “No, I don’t think so.”

Annie’s scrutiny didn’t let up. “No, maybe not. I usually never forget a face, though, and there’s something about you …” She looked away finally and gave the pot of soup another stir. “I’m sure it’ll come to me. Oh, I almost forgot. Mr. Harris asked me to give each of you a key to the front door so you can come and go as you please.” She pulled the keys out of her apron pocket.

“Thanks.” Claire accepted the keys and passed them around.

Sam tucked hers in the pocket of her jeans. “Nice to meet you. I should go,” she said to Claire and Kristi. “I have lots to do.” And she wanted to get out of here before AJ returned. She still had a lot of questions, like did he plan to live here while they did the work or would he make other arrangements? His parents’ home on Mercer Island was certainly big enough. The apartment Sam shared with her mother would fit in their pool house, with room to spare.

Sam hated giving a rat’s ass about his living arrangements, hated herself for hoping he’d be here every day and hated that she still found him the most attractive man she had ever met.

Chapter Three

After a nearly sleepless night spent contemplating his options, AJ decided to honor the contract with Sam’s company. Getting out of it would take time, and money. Hiring someone else to do the work would take more time. There was also a chance that firing them would raise Sam’s suspicions, and he couldn’t risk that.

Not that it should matter. She had abruptly and cold-heartedly ended their relationship, neglected to tell him she was pregnant and then decided to put their baby up for adoption as though he had no say in the matter. It was purely by coincidence that, months after Sam had broken things off with him, he happened to see her. He’d been sitting in the glass-walled boardroom of the law firm that handled Harris Marketing and Communications’ contract negotiations and had been stunned to see Sam Elliott—a very pregnant Sam Elliott—walk out of Melanie Morrow’s office. Melanie practiced family law. AJ had met her at a handful of social gatherings and didn’t know her well, but well enough to know she wanted to get ahead and make a name for herself, mostly by handling high-profile divorce cases.

He’d never had much interest in contracts—he much preferred the creative side of the business—but his father had insisted he take an active role. That day he had suffered through the meeting and while the lawyers argued about costs and compensations, he had pondered Sam’s protruding belly, performed some mental calculations of his own and quickly came to the conclusion that what was inside that belly could very well be his. Was it possible that the woman he had been so in love with could be carrying his child without telling him? It was impossible to believe she was that coldhearted, and having another man’s baby would certainly explain why she’d given AJ the brush-off. And now she and that other man were already headed for a divorce, or so it would seem. If that was the case, it was none of his business, but he needed to know.

By the time the meeting was over, he’d come up with a plan to stop by Melanie’s office on his way out, invite her to join him for a drink after work and figure out a way to direct the conversation around to Sam. He’d never been much for small talk but that hadn’t mattered because two wine spritzers had been all it took to loosen Melanie’s tongue.

What he learned was something he’d never imagined possible, and it hit him harder than anything up until then, even harder than his brother’s suicide all those years ago. Sam wasn’t married. Her baby was due in two months, the father wasn’t “involved,” she didn’t want the baby and she was setting up a private adoption. Counting back from her due date showed the baby had been conceived when they were together. He wasn’t sure what he thought of Sam at that moment, but he was absolutely sure of two things. She didn’t sleep around, and she was having his baby. A baby she didn’t want. The realization cut him to the core. It had taken a week to come up with a plan, then he’d asked Melanie out for dinner, and the rest was history.

A history that yesterday had crashed into his life like a steamroller. He had always intended to get away from Seattle before this could happen. Now that it had, and as bizarre as it sounded even in his head, keeping Sam around to do the work was safer than sending her packing. Claire DeAngelo, who seemed to be the one in charge although she insisted the three of them were equal partners, thought the work would take several weeks and she’d have the house on the market before Christmas.

He’d been up since before dawn, moving everything from the sunroom he used as an office to his bedroom. Satisfied that his temporary work space would provide a welcome escape from the past and present, he went downstairs to join Will and Annie for breakfast and wait for Sam’s return.

After an early-morning run, Sam dawdled over her cornflakes and coffee while she watched her mother study the jigsaw puzzle pieces strewn across the other side of the table. For the first time in forever, she was tempted to join her. The notion of withdrawing from reality and into her mother’s fantasy world had never held any appeal—until this morning. There’d be no puzzles in Sam’s dreamworld. It would also be a world devoid of lying, cheating, two-timing ex-lovers.

In spite of the psychiatrist’s diagnosis, years ago, that Tildy Elliott had an illness, a mental illness, Sam had always wondered if some past event had caused her to retreat into a fantasy world. Maybe something Sam’s long-absent and now deceased father had done, or something another man had done. Until her run-in with AJ yesterday, Sam had never thought of it in exactly those terms, but now as she watched this delicate woman intent on finding the puzzle’s flat-edged border pieces, Sam had a hunch that a man had to be behind her mother’s illness. Men were nothing but trouble.

On the weekend, Tildy had been as delighted as a child on Christmas morning when Sam brought the six new puzzles home. This one—a photograph of a castle somewhere in Europe—had immediately captured her mother’s interest. It also had a thousand pieces and would easily keep her busy all day while Sam was at work.

Sam dismissed the guilt pangs. When she wasn’t working, which was rare these days, she tried to get her mother out of the apartment or at least encourage her to do something other than puzzles, playing solitaire or watching television. But when she had to leave her here alone, she worried less knowing she was occupied, and she knew Tildy would work tirelessly on the puzzle until it was finished.

This morning Sam’s very existence felt a lot like those scattered bits of cardboard. Broken pieces of what had been, until yesterday, a whole picture, albeit a tenuous one. Much as she disliked puzzles, she would give almost anything to stay here and lose herself in the mind-numbing activity of putting that picture back together. Instead she had demons to face, and AJ Harris was one hell of a demon.

He’d inherited an incredible house but it needed a lot of work. Still, if she worked long hours and brought in a couple of assistants to help with the painting and wallpaper removal, she should be able to finish in three weeks. Barring any unforeseen problems. To her question about potential problems like mold or termites or faulty wiring, AJ had given one of his silent shrugs. Huh. The privileged pretty boy with the perfect home and an adorably cherub-faced, at least according to Kristi, little boy knew nothing about construction. No surprise there.

There might have been a time when she could have forgiven him for getting his father to do his dirty work, but knowing he’d then gone ahead and had a child with another woman while she’d had to give up hers? That was unforgivable. That was the agony she’d have to endure every day for the next three weeks. To make matters worse, he worked at home now. Somehow she would have to guard against drowning in the depths of his dark, soulless gaze. Keep her heart from hammering its way out of her chest every time she watched him cross a room, because to save her sanity she couldn’t stop picturing his magnificent male form, completely unclothed.

She jumped up from the table. Do not think of him naked. AJ Harris is not the most heart-stoppingly handsome man in the universe. He’s the arrogant jerk who ruined your life. An arrogant, adulterous jerk who’d been screwing her while he’d been busy getting his wife pregnant. Well, to hell with him. Sam had coped with a lot of crap in her life, and she would find a way to cope with this, too.

She gathered up the breakfast dishes. The soggy remains of her mother’s cereal went down the drain—she’d eaten a few mouthfuls, at least—and then Sam quickly washed her breakfast dishes and put them in the drain rack on the counter. Her mother’s head was still bent over the puzzle pieces. “More coffee, Mom?”

“No, thank you, dear.” She snapped another puzzle piece into place. “Look at this. The top edge and one side are almost done.”

Sam dried her hands on a towel and hung it on the handle of the oven door. “I see that. You’re doing great.”

“It’s always best to start with the outside edges and work your way in.”

While Sam pondered that as a possible metaphor for her life, she packed two bottles of water, a sandwich and an apple in her insulated lunch bag. “I left some tuna salad in the fridge for you, and Mrs. Stanton said she’d drop by to see you at lunchtime.” Mrs. Stanton was the neighbor across the hall. Years ago Sam had given the woman a key so she could come in at lunchtime to make sure Tildy had something to eat. Sam so often dreamed of moving into a decent apartment, maybe even a house with a back garden that might tempt her mother out of her reclusive existence, but what if the upheaval was the tipping point for Tildy’s fragile mental state? That worried her, and more important, there’d be no Mrs. Stanton to keep an eye on her.

Sam retrieved her work boots from the tiny hall closet, slipped into her jacket and picked up her clipboard from the hall table. “I’m leaving for work, Mom. Do you need to do anything before I leave?”

“Oh. I’m afraid we’re out of milk. The queen is coming this afternoon and she likes milk in her tea. Not cream. It has to be milk, you know.”

Sam sighed and returned to the kitchen. “I bought milk yesterday.” She opened the refrigerator. “It’s right here, see?”

Tildy’s glossy red lips spread into a smile. “Oh, thank you, dear. The last time she came, she caused a royal fuss because there was only cream.”

Sam never bought cream, but that was the thing about fictional events. A person’s memories could be anything she wanted them to be.

“She liked the cucumber sandwiches, though. And I’m out of cigarettes. Could you pick some up for me on your way home?”

“Sure.” As soon as hell freezes over. Her mother had been out of cigarettes for fifteen years. Sam had stopped buying them after her father left because they couldn’t afford them, she was tired of smelling like an ashtray and she worried her mother would set the place on fire.

From time to time Tildy still asked for them and it was simpler to say yes than to remind her that she didn’t smoke anymore.

Sam slipped an arm around her mother’s narrow shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. This morning she was still wearing her chartreuse satin dressing gown but as always she had teased her thinning silver hair into a poofy do and rouged her cheeks to match her lips. The tang of hair spray that shellacked her mother’s hair in place made Sam back away. “What are you doing today?” she asked. Aside from entertaining Her Majesty. “Any plans?”

“I’ll finish the puzzle.” She turned her attention back to the jigsaw pieces spread across the kitchen table’s worn Arborite. “And then I have to get ready for tea. I’ve decided to wear the green-and-gold plaid silk. You don’t think it’s too flashy, do you?”

Not if the queen is color-blind. The dress her mother referred to wear was every bit as hideous now as it had been forty years ago. “Everyone loves your plaid dress, Mom. You’ll look beautiful,” Sam lied, carefully sidestepping any mention of Elizabeth II.

“Yes, I’m hoping she’ll like it, too,” Tildy said. “It’s in terribly bad taste to upstage the queen.”

Of course it was.

Her mother’s delusions were richly populated with royalty and Hollywood stars, and occasional appearances by the Pope. Sam could almost understand her mother’s preoccupation with the likes of Robert De Niro and Steve Martin, even the British monarchy, but the significance of those papal visits eluded her. Her mother wasn’t even Catholic, although she could almost pass for pious in the habit she’d fashioned from an old black robe, a dingy white pillowcase and a rosary of pink plastic beads.

“I’ll see you tonight, Mom. If I’m late, Mrs. Stanton will drop by again.”

“That’s nice.” Tildy straightened then and stared down at Sam’s feet. “Why are you galumphing around my kitchen in those boots?”

“I’m going to work, remember?”

“Will you be back in time for tea?”

“Sorry. Not today.”

First thing, she had a meeting with Claire and Kristi, then she had to stop at the building supply store. The rest of the day would be spent avoiding AJ while she stripped wallpaper and patched the walls, and Kristi cleared countless decades’ worth of clutter out of the kitchen. If all went well, Sam would be home in time to fix dinner. If not, she’d have to call Mrs. Stanton and ask her to take Tildy a plate of whatever she and Mr. Stanton were having tonight. Her mother barely ate enough to keep a bird alive, and although Sam wrote her neighbor a check for a hundred dollars every month to cover the cost of food, she hated asking for favors. On the plus side, her mother had never shown any inclination to cook for herself, so at least no one had to worry about her starting a fire in the kitchen.

“See you tonight, Mom.”

Tildy snapped another puzzle piece into place.

“I love you.” Sam always said it, but her mother never reciprocated. No one ever had. Not her father. Certainly not AJ, and yesterday she’d discovered why. He hadn’t loved her. He’d been married to someone else.

Today was no different. “Don’t forget to buy milk,” Tildy said without looking up.

Sam didn’t reply, she just sighed as she let herself out of the apartment, locked the door and knocked on the one across the hall.

“Good morning, Sam,” Elizabeth Stanton said when she opened the door. She was a tall, boney-looking woman, fiftyish with salt-and-pepper hair, married to a man fifteen years her senior. “How’s everything this morning?”

“Same as usual. Mom’s working on a puzzle right now. I left some tuna salad in the fridge and bread to make a sandwich, if you can get her to eat one.”

“She usually will, as long as I cut the crusts off. I’ve got some leftover pumpkin pie from Thanksgiving so I’ll take her a slice of that, too.”

“If she calls to tell you we’re out of milk, just tell her you’ll bring some over at lunchtime. There’s plenty in the fridge, but she keeps forgetting about it.”

Mrs. Stanton displayed a prominent overbite when she smiled. “I take it she’s having tea this afternoon?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“It’s harmless,” the woman said. “You should count your blessings for that because you can’t say the same for everyone who has her condition.”

“You’re right.” She had trouble seeing it as a blessing, but as curses went, it could have been a lot worse.

“I’ve been hoping the new medication will make a difference.”

“I am, too, especially for your sake, but you need to give it some time.”

“I know.” That’s what the doctor had said, too. “I’m starting a new job today but I’ll try to be home in time for dinner.”

“Have a good day, Sam. Let me know if you’ll be late and I’ll run across with some dinner for her, too.”

She closed the door, and Sam trudged down the hallway to the stairwell, leaving one set of problems behind and setting off to face another.

Will scooped a forkful of his eggs off his plate as AJ walked into the kitchen. “Daddy, I eating green eggs an’ ham. See?” He held up the food, then popped it into his mouth.

“I see that. It looks delicious.”

After Will had fallen in love with the Dr. Seuss story, Annie had cleverly concocted a recipe for scrambled eggs with chopped ham and spinach. “Good way to get some greens into him,” she’d said, and as usual she was right. Will loved it, and AJ had to admit he did, too. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat next to his son with his own plate of green eggs and ham.

“Will you be working today, Mr. Harris?”

He unfolded the morning paper and scanned the headlines. “This afternoon I will be—the gardening article I’m working on is due tomorrow—but I’ll take Will and Hershey to the park this morning.”

“Good idea. It’s supposed to rain this afternoon. Did those women say what time they’d be here?”

“Around ten-thirty. Claire DeAngelo called last night to say they had a meeting first thing, but they’d be here after that.” He intended to be out of the house by then. “The interior decorator, I think her name is Kristi, would like to start clearing out the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I plan to do a little Christmas baking before they arrive, then I can give her a hand.”

“Thanks. If there’s anything you’d like to keep, I want you to feel free.”

“That’s very generous of you. I’m mighty fond of a couple of your grandmother’s teapots.”

“Then I want you to have them.” It wasn’t as though there was any shortage of teapots in this house.

Will’s fork clattered to the table. “Going to park now?” he mumbled around his last mouthful of eggs.

“Remember your manners, William,” Annie said. “Good little boys don’t talk with their mouths full, do they?”

Will swallowed. “All gone.” To demonstrate, he opened his mouth wide.

Annie laughed and lifted him down from the table. “Come with me. We’ll wash your hands and face and get your jacket and mittens while your father finishes his breakfast.”

AJ watched them leave the kitchen, admiring her patience. He should be taking notes because it wouldn’t be long before he would be taking care of William on his own. He looked forward to it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have regrets.

Adopting his own son hadn’t been the first time he’d used the family fortune and status to get something he wanted, but it would be the last. His parents, make that his father, had issued an ultimatum the day he’d brought William home. He could keep his position in the business or he could keep his illegitimate son. One or the other. Not both.

His decision had been a no-brainer and he’d never regretted putting his son first. Grandmother Harris, horrified by her son’s hard-hearted stand, had opened her door to AJ and William. Her health was failing and he couldn’t turn his back on her, so although he had already purchased the house in Idaho, he’d moved in with his son and hired Annie Dobson to look after them. His grandmother was able to spend her final years getting to know her great-grandson in the home she loved. AJ had never regretted doing what he’d had to do to get his son, and he never would. He hadn’t regretted postponing the move to Idaho, either. Now, as long as he was careful, he wouldn’t regret letting Sam’s company sell this house. He hoped.