Colby's Wife

‘He seems...unhappy.’

‘He’s going through a rough time. That’s why we’re here.’ Colby’s lips twisted in a self-derisive smile. ‘I used to be happy here—I thought perhaps he could be, too, in this Canadian Eden.’

Greer met his gaze. ‘It was once an Eden,’ she said, very quietly.

‘But in every Eden there’s a snake.’

He might as well have stabbed her in the heart.

At seventeen, wildly in love and irrational because of it, she’d felt a bitter resentment toward Colby for having judged and condemned her on evidence that though damning, was circumstantial; in view of their many summers together at the cottage she felt he should have known she wasn’t that kind of girl. Men were so blind, she’d raged inwardly. So stupid. So easily fooled by the superficial.

Her cousin Eleanor with her baby-soft voice, her affected feminine fragility, her fake sugar-sweet smile, had fooled Colby into believing she was something she was not. He had fallen in love at first sight, bedazzled by the halo of outward beauty of a female who had in reality been—

Greer cut her thoughts off sharply. She should not be thinking ill of the dead. And of course she knew now that her resentment of Colby had been totally irrational. What else could he have thought, discovering her with Brad the way he had? She could even find it amusing, with a sort of black humor, that he had thought her capable of having a fling with a married man. After all, she’d been only seventeen at the time, and—sexually—as green as grass.

And wouldn’t it surprise him to know, she reflected with a wryly self-deprecating smile, that even now, at the grand old age of twenty-five, she was still a virgin!

‘You find that funny?’ he rasped.

Greer blinked. ‘Sorry... ?’

‘It amused you that—’

‘Oh, the snake thing.’ Greer twirled her index finger around a glossy strand of hair that had fallen over her bare shoulder. ‘No,’ she said lightly, ‘I don’t find that amusing. I was thinking of...something else.’

‘Something else...or somebody else?’ Colby’s voice had a taunting edge. ‘You’re here with a man, of course.’

Deliberately, she threw him a flirtatious look from beneath her silky eyelashes. ‘Hang around,’ she said, her taunting tone an echo of his own, ‘and you’ll find out.’

Her left hand lay at her shoulder, the coil of hair loose around her fingers. Taking her by surprise, Colby reached out and, slipping her hand free, grasped it firmly. He inspected it, and raised one eyebrow.

‘No ring?’ His upper lip curled. ‘He hasn’t staked a claim yet?’

Greer snatched her hand back, dismayed by the current of electricity that had shot up her arm. ‘A man can stake a claim without having to spend money on diamonds—’

‘No ring, no claim,’ Colby retorted. ‘So...the field is wide open, mmm? Prize available to the highest bidder?’

Stunned at this side of Colby, a side she’d never known before, Greer was searching her mind for some snappy put-down when she heard her grandmother call to her.

‘Greer, darling, coffee’s ready. My goodness, is that Colby Daken? Hello there, you dear boy—what a delightful surprise! Come and join us, won’t you?’

Colby grinned as he waved to Jem, who was standing on her veranda, her hair twisted up in a topknot, her spare figure adorned in an oversize shirt and drainpipe jeans. ‘Hi, there, Mrs. W,’ he called back. ‘I’ll take a rain check if I may—catch you later.’

His smile transformed his face, changed it to the face Greer knew of old—eyes twinkling, teeth sparkling white, deep grooves bracketing his beautifully sculpted mouth. She felt something melt inside her, and it had nothing to do with the growing heat of the morning sun.

But as her grandmother went inside again, his smile faded, and his lips were compressed tightly as he looked at Greer. ‘You’re here with your grandmother?’

‘That’s right. No man in tow.’ Greer wrinkled her nose. ‘Disappointed?’

‘A little,’ he returned, and went on smoothly, ‘The chase is always more challenging when there’s competition. A woman always seems more interesting when someone else wants her, too. And I’m sure you feel the same way about men. After all, wasn’t that the appeal Brad Pierson held for you—he belonged to someone else?’

‘I knew there was a reason I didn’t want to come to the cottage this weekend.’ Greer found her words coming out with exactly the right edge of weary boredom she wanted to express. ‘There was always the chance you might be here.’

He ignored her jibe. ‘You’re here only for the weekend? You’re going back to town tomorrow?’

‘That’s right,’ Greer said coolly. ‘I’m here only because Jem asked me to come with her.’

‘Is she going to sell the cottage?’

‘That’s going to be up to me.’

Colby raised his eyebrows.

‘My grandmother doesn’t like spending time here on her own any more,’ Greer explained stiffly. ‘At least, that’s what she told me. I think there’s more to it.’

‘Such as?’

Greer shrugged. ‘Gran sold her Buick in February, around the time her driving licence was due for renewal, and I suspect the Motor Vehicles Branch may have called her in for a test that she failed...her eyesight’s not as good as it once was...and she’s too proud to admit it. At any rate, she no longer has transportation to get here, so she’s told me the property is mine, if I want it. And if I don’t—’

‘Then she’s going to unload it.’ Colby’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Greer. ‘So...what are you going to do?’

I thought I knew...but now that you’re here, Lord knows what my decision’s going to be! ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet. I told Jem I’d let her know today. If I don’t take her up on her offer, we’ll get the place ready for sale. Now—’ Greer turned to walk away ‘—if you’ll excuse me—’

‘Wait.’ He caught her arm.

‘What?’ She was so close she could smell the musk of his hair, the dizzying scent of his skin ... so close that if she wanted to, she could have run her fingertips over the hard sculpted angle of his jaw. And she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

‘I’ll bring Jamie over, after breakfast, to meet his great-grandmother. And because you’re here, I’ll have to introduce him to you, too—’

‘Well, sorry about that,’ Greer snapped, snatching her arm free, ‘but yes, I think that would be a good idea. He was taken aback when he saw me...I realize now it was probably because of the family resemblance. I must remind him of...his mother.’

Their eyes locked, and in Colby’s she saw something she hadn’t noticed before. A look of deep and private pain.

Greer felt a sudden stab of remorse, remorse that twisted her heart, and she had to ram her hands deep into her pockets to keep from reaching out to comfort him. Oh, how she ached for a return of the days when she could have done just that...

But those days were gone. Long gone.

And they would never return.

‘Colby, I’m sorry,’ she said, huskily. ‘It must still hurt, I know, to talk about Eleanor. You must miss her so.’

Fighting back a welling of tears, she turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see her distress, and set off up the beach toward the cottage.

This time, he didn’t try to stop her.

‘So...Colby is here.’

‘Yes.’ Greer tried to keep a lid on her roiling emotions as she met her grandmother’s shrewd azure gaze unflinchingly across the pine kitchen table. ‘He’s here.’

‘Alone?’

‘Jamie is with him.’

‘Mmm. And missing his mother dreadfully, I should imagine.’

‘Seems that way.’ Greer moved restlessly on her chair. ‘His father said he’s been having a rough time. He hopes, I think, that a summer at the lake will help Jamie come to terms with his loss.’

‘And Colby? How does he seem?’

‘Hard.’

Her grandmother raised her eyebrows.

Greer frowned, feeling unaccountably irritable and impatient. ‘He’s—’

She broke off, searching for a word that would describe Colby’s attitude toward her, without giving too much away, but before she could find one, Jem said, in a questioning tone, ‘Grieving?’

‘When he came back here after his father died, he was grieving.’ Greer fidgeted with the beaded edge of her place mat. ‘But he was still...nice.’ Oh, Lord, had he ever been nice! He had...during those first three days at the lake, before the Bradley Pierson affair...treated her like a cherished and dearly missed friend.

‘Colby sounded pleasant enough when he spoke to me.’

‘Oh, yes, the man can be pleasant when—’

‘Colby.’

Greer blinked. ‘Sorry?’

‘Colby.’ Jem lifted the coffeepot from its spot on the table and refilled her mug. She added a spoonful of sugar, and stirred it in, before saying, in a gentle voice, ‘His name is Colby, dear. It won’t hurt you to say it.’

‘I don’t want to say it!’ The outburst was childish, and Greer was ashamed of it...and of herself. She was twenty-five, no longer a child of seventeen, hurting and lonely. She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘Jem, about the cottage. I thought this morning that I’d really like for us to keep it in the family...but now that...he...is here, I’m going to need some more time.’

‘Time for what?’

‘Time to find out what his plans are. If he intends to be here every summer, it would be an impossible situation. I could never relax, with him around...treating me like some sort of a...leper.’ Her voice cracked, and she crossed to the window. Gripping the edge of the countertop, she looked out...

A mistake. Straight ahead, slung between two ancient birch trees, was the hammock where she and Colby had cavorted together many times in happy summers gone by. Oh, Lord...

‘You love it here, just as much as I do,’ Jem said. ‘Greer, I’ve been thinking. The cottage, as you reminded me when we talked in your office, has been in the family for generations. Five generations, to be exact. Let us not make any hasty decisions. Now that I’m here, I’d like to stay, for the rest of the summer—’

Greer whirled around, aghast. ‘Gran, I can’t possibly stay with you! I’ve told you how busy I am—’

‘Darling,’ Jem soothed, ‘I’m not suggesting that. What I am suggesting is that you join me on the weekends. You say Colby and my great-grandson are going to be here all summer—what a splendid opportunity it will be for me to get to know the child! And it will be good for him to get to know me.’

Her eyes had a spark of excitement that Greer hadn’t seen there in a while, and as she saw it, guilt stung her conscience. Oh, she didn’t neglect her grandmother—in fact, she made a point of seeing her several times a week, and she took her to the theater on a regular basis—but she had to admit her work took precedence. She’d buried herself in it for years, in an attempt to shut out her painful memories; and now she realized with a shock that she hadn’t given as much of herself as she perhaps should, to this wonderful, generous woman who had done so much for her.

She crossed to her now, and bending down, gave her a tight hug. ‘You’re right, Gran—it’s not the kind of thing that should be decided overnight. And especially it’s not the kind of thing that should be decided on the basis of who our next-door neighbors might be! If you’re sure you won’t mind being on your own through the week, that’s fine with me. I can’t promise, though, that I’ll be able to make it every single weekend, but I’ll try.’ She straightened, and managed a bright smile. “There, how does that sound?’

‘Sounds wonderful—’

A loud rat-tat rattled on the screen door, and when Greer looked around and saw Colby on the veranda, she felt a surge of dismay. How long had he been standing there? How much had he overheard? But before she could recall exactly what she’d been saying, Jem had scooped up her cane and moved across the room, clicking up the latch and opening the door.

‘Well, Colby,’ she began, pleasure warming her voice, but before she could go any further, Colby had swung her up in his arms and enfolded her in a bear hug.

‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Jem Westbury.’ His voice was gruff. He dropped her gently to the floor, but took her hands in his and looked down into eyes that were hazed with tears. ‘Lord, it’s good to see you. Jamie—’ he put an arm around the shoulders of the boy trying to hide behind him, and pulled him forward ‘—I’d like you to meet your great-grandmother, Jem Westbury. Jem, my son, Jamie.’

Jem looked long and searchingly at the boy. In the end, she nodded, her expression satisfied. ‘You’re a Daken,’ she said bluntly, ‘and that’s good.’ And as Jamie pressed back against his father, she added, chucklingly, ‘Oh, you needn’t worry that I’m going to hug you and kiss you the way your father has just done with me. Mind you, I liked it, but that’s because I’m a woman, and we love to be fussed over. Maybe one day, though, when we get to know each other better, you’ll feel like giving me a hug. I’ll welcome it when you do. Now what do you want to call me, young man? Great-grandmother’s a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?’

‘Your name’s Mrs. Westbury,’ Jamie said in a flat voice. ‘That’s what I’ll call you.’

If she was taken aback, Jem showed no sign of it. ‘That’ll be just fine,’ she said. ‘Now, you’ve already met my granddaughter, Greer... Greer Alexander, who is—’

‘Dad told me. She’s my mother’s cousin.’

And Greer guessed, from the indifference in his voice, that he was going to announce that he would call her Miss Alexander. Quickly she said, ‘That’s right, Jamie. Your great-grandmother Jem had two children, Lorna and Taylor. Lorna got married and had one child...that was me, and Taylor got married and had one child...that was your mother. And since I don’t have any nephews or nieces, nor shall I ever, I’d be really happy if you’d call me Aunt Greer.’

She knew she had put him on the spot. How could he refuse...without seeming churlish?

He scowled, and she sensed he had guessed her strategy. She could almost hear him say to himself: The battle is on and she’s won the first round! Jem had drawn Colby over to the table and they were chatting as Jem poured him a mug of coffee, but her own attention was fixed on Jamie as he searched for a response that would make him the winner of the next round. Her mouth threatened to curve in amusement; she primmed it and waited.

‘I thought you looked like Mommy when I saw you on the beach.’ Jamie’s hazel eyes glinted smugly. ‘But you don’t.’ He tilted his small chin and went on in a voice that was meant for her ears only, ‘You’re not nearly as pretty.’

Momentarily shocked, Greer wrapped her arms around herself. A defensive gesture, she knew. Yet why should she feel she would have to defend herself against this child? He was, after all, only seven. ‘You’re right,’ she said evenly, ‘I’m not nearly as pretty as your mother was.’

‘And my dad loved her more than anybody in the world.’

‘Yes, he did.’ Greer fought an urge to take the little boy into her arms and soothe away the hurt and anger she could feel emanating from him. Did Colby realize how deeply affected his son was by the loss of his mother? She hoped so, and she hoped he had the tools to deal with the problem. A summer at the cottage was wonderful for any child...but for this particular child she sensed that more, much more, was needed. ‘Jamie—’ she looped a strand of her hair back over one ear ‘—I think I may have an old photo album with pictures of your mother. Would you like me to fetch it?’

‘Now?’ His glasses slipped down; he flicked them back up onto the bridge of his small nose.

‘Sure...if you like.’

‘Darling.’ Jem touched Greer’s arm. ‘Pour yourself another mug of coffee and let’s all go out onto the veranda. It’s far too nice a morning to waste indoors. Here.’ She handed Jamie a frosted tumbler, and as Colby held the door open, she put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and guided him outside. ‘Try this—lemonade, my own special recipe.’

Colby waited for Greer to follow, but she shook her head. ‘Go ahead,’ she said stiffly. ‘I promised Jamie I’d show him some pictures of Eleanor.’ She hesitated, and then went on in a voice that couldn’t be heard outside, ‘I think it will be good for him—being here, I mean, and getting to know Jem. She has a wonderful way with children.’

She thought she saw Colby’s face soften. ‘She was here for me when my own mother died,’ he said. ‘I was only four, of course, when Dad bought the cottage, but from that very first summer, she was a part of my life. Dad often said how much we both owed her—’

‘She got as much as she gave, Colby—perhaps even more. It’s so often the case, when we reach out to help someone.’

Colby leaned against the wall with one shoulder, and folded his arms. ‘Tell me something,’ he said softly.

Greer felt her heartbeats stumble. ‘If I can.’

‘Why are you so sure you’ll never have any nieces or nephews?’

‘Oh, that.’ Greer looked away from him, fixing her gaze on the pine dresser crammed with Jem’s antique dishes. She shrugged. ‘I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so—’

‘You know what I mean.’ Colby’s voice demanded she look at him; she didn’t. She let her gaze drift to the copper pots and pans dangling from a wooden beam on the ceiling above the sink. ‘When you marry there’s every likelihood in the world that you’ll end up with a horde of nephews and nieces...and if you keep the cottage, you can invite them all here for the summer, to play with your own children.’

Children. The only children she had ever dreamed of having were Colby’s. And that was never to be. The ache in her heart was an old ache, but age made it no easier to bear. ‘I don’t plan on getting married,’ she said, forcing herself at last to meet his gaze...and seeing him frown. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to go and get that old album for Jamie.’ Turning, she quickly left the kitchen, and was thankful to hear no sound of footsteps following her as she hurried along the lobby.

What would he think, she wondered dismally, if he knew that he was the reason she’d never marry, because she had never met anyone who could hold a candle to him? Oh, at first she had made a valiant effort to erase her memories of him and fall in love with someone else... but all she had to show for it were two failed relationships—relationships that had both foundered when the men involved had finally pressed for commitment and intimacy, neither of which she had been able to give, because her heart belonged to Colby.

She blinked back a tear as she crossed the sitting room. How would he feel if he knew she loved him...and loved him in the same single-minded way he’d loved Eleanor?

It was ironic that if she herself hadn’t been so besotted with Colby that she took snaps of him at every opportunity, Eleanor would never even have contrived to meet him, and there would have still been a chance, if only ever-so-faint a chance, that Colby would have waited for her to grow up...

Greer sank onto the hooked rug by the pine corner cabinet, and pulling open the door of the lower cupboard, hauled out a pile of albums. As she reached for the green one, containing photos of Eleanor and Colby, another album tumbled out...a heavy leatherbound brown one...

With a defeated sigh, she took the album in her lap, and let it fall open.

Her eyes blurred as she stared at the five-by-seven enlargement of Colby. No coincidence that the page had opened at this place...it had always been her favorite photo, and she had spent countless hours gazing at it. She found herself smiling now, wistfully, as she recalled the occasion on which she’d taken the original snap....

Jem had made three blueberry pies that breezy August morning, and had arranged two on the sill of the kitchen’s passing window to cool. She’d given Greer the third to take over to Lisa...and when Greer was on her way back, she’d noticed Colby sneaking across the veranda, his purpose blatantly obvious. She’d whipped inside for her camera, and had returned in time to catch Colby with his thumb in a pie.

But a second before she pressed the shutter, he must have sensed her presence. He looked around abruptly, and on seeing Greer, had let out a great guffaw of laughter; she had snapped the picture, and when it was processed a week later, she had felt her insides turn to mush. Colby’s eyes sparkled with laughter and delight, his features were creased in a devastatingly attractive ‘Oh, Lord, caught in the act!’ grin, and his hair had fallen over his brow giving him a devil-may-care look that would have melted the coldest heart.

And her heart hadn’t been cold.

It had been burning hot, with a passion that at the tender age of fourteen had mystified—and frightened—her.

She’d taken the album with her to Australia, when she’d gone there as usual to spend the last fortnight of the summer holidays with her aunt Cecilia, before returning to Toronto and school in the Fall.

Eleanor had, of course, been at home—she invariably chose to spend all her summers with her mother, loving the laid-back life-style...the live-in maid, the endless parties, the attention lavished on her by her mother’s women friends.

And Eleanor had come on Greer one morning as Greer lay on her bed staring at the treasured photo of Colby.

‘What’s this?’ her nineteen-year-old cousin had asked lazily. ‘A picture of some movie star? Don’t tell me you’re one of those mindless teenagers who send adoring fan letters to their current heartthrobs.’

Greer hadn’t answered. Let Eleanor think that if she wanted; she had no desire to share her secret with anyone. But her silence had made Eleanor curious. Her cousin had snatched up the album...and had then of course noticed the black writing scrawled over the foot of the photo:

To my summer sprite

Love from Colby

For a few moments the silence in the room had hummed as Eleanor had assimilated this information. Then...

‘Colby Daken.’ Eleanor’s tone was cool. ‘Gran’s mentioned him once or twice. He’s the one whose father owns the summer cottage next to hers?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Are they... well-off?’

Greer shrugged. ‘I think so. Actually yes—Colby’s father, Mackenzie Daken, owns Daken Construction—one of the biggest construction companies in Canada. The family has pots of money. But you’d never know it,’ she hastened to add, ‘they’re just...well, ordinary, I guess. Really nice.’

The following summer, for the first time, Eleanor had invited herself to the cottage at Lake Trillium for the whole of July and August. Greer had been astonished, and Jem had been, too. Eleanor had never hidden her disdain for cottage life—for ‘roughing it,’ as she scornfully put it—and it wasn’t till Greer saw her beautiful cousin setting her cap for Colby, that she finally realized what was going on. But she’d never told anyone...not even her grandmother...about Eleanor seeing the picture of Colby and asking if the family had money—

‘Have you found it?’

Jamie’s voice coming from right behind her made Greer start. Snapping the album shut, she stuffed it back into the cupboard, and then tugged the green album from the pile.

‘Here—’ she brushed off a trace of dust with her fingertips ‘—it’s yours, if you want to keep it.’

Jamie took the album but didn’t open it. Clutching it against his chest, he took in a deep breath, opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then closed it again. His gaze drifted over her hair, and her face. He raised his hand, and Greer thought he was going to flick up his glasses. To her astonishment, what he did was reach out and touch the top of her head, letting his fingers slip over her hair, as if he wanted to experience the texture of it.

Emotion tightened Greer’s throat muscles. Was Jamie remembering how his mother’s hair felt? Eleanor’s hair had been ash blond, too, though not quite as thick, nor as silky as hers. ‘Jamie,’ she whispered, huskily—and lifted her hand to touch his...but he snatched it away. Wrapping both arms around the album, he took off like a frightened rabbit.

She thought she heard a sound like a gulping sob as he reached the door, but when she went out onto the veranda a minute or two later, she found him sitting on the swing, drinking his lemonade.