Second To None

Tony had a gold hoop earring, curly dark hair, a beautiful beaky nose, and a smile that was all for Cece.

“You’ll never believe where Tony goes to school,” Tate teased.

“Where?”

Tony was obviously pleased to tell her. “I’m a Psych major at Southern Massachusetts University.”

“You’re kidding!” Cece squealed.

Veronica turned away discreetly as the conversation between Tony and Cece took off. Mike had slipped into the chair on her other side, and she felt an instant resurgence of that uncomfortable feeling she’d experienced when he’d turned down her invitation to lunch.

She decided to fight it “Did you get your million things done?” she asked with a smile, then tacked on, as if the answer didn’t matter, “Did you get some of this pork? It’s wonderful.”

“Only 999 thousand of them,” he said, helping himself to a piece. “The rest will have to wait until after the wedding. Did you eat both sandwiches and both apples?”

“Yes,” she lied, “and all the salad. I did save you a pop for another time, though.”

She was sure he knew she was teasing, just as he was teasing her. It seemed to be a way to skate over the strangeness of their relationship. Or their acquaintanceship, she mentally corrected—it could hardly be called a relationship. And she liked being able to challenge him about his rejection of her invitation by telling him there was nothing of significance left anyway.

He acknowledged her comment with a small nod. Then he reached into the pocket of his chambray shirt and handed her a business card. “Got you two candidates for your day care center.”

She blinked as she took the card. “You did?”

“I ran into someone I know from the Rotary Club—Tate and Shea and I each belong to a service organization so we’ll be involved in the community. Anyway, this guy has a girl and a boy, five-year-old twins. His wife’s a teacher, and he happened to mention that she’s taken a group of high school kids to Europe for the summer. Right now his twins are at their grandparents’ until the middle of July, but he was wondering what to do with them when they come back. So I suggested you.”

“Well—” Gratitude warred with guilt over teasing him. “Thank you. But, why? I thought you didn’t want a day care here.”

Mike didn’t actually know why. Some do-gooder need to make peace for having opposed her presence after she’d had such difficult odds to fight? He didn’t necessarily understand her, but he could relate to her uphill climb.

He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Everything doesn’t always have to make sense, does it? Like sliding down a banister.”

She giggled. The sound was ingenuous and surprising, and warmed him deep inside.

“You’re right,” she said. She touched his arm, and he felt it in his fingertips. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it”

“Sure. You can reach him at that number from 9:00 to 5:30, then at the number he wrote on the back in the evenings.”

Veronica read the information on the card: Bob Burgess Furniture and Appliances. The address was on Front Street in French River.

“He doesn’t mind driving out here?”

Mike shook his head. “He lives a mile beyond us. It’ll be convenient for him.”

She grinned with the excitement of having her first two clients. “Told ya,” she said.

He grinned, too, but shook his head at her. “Nice of you not to gloat.”

She touched him again. “Thank you, Mike. Honestly.”

He moved, intending to cover her hand with his, then caught a fried shrimp with it instead. “You’re welcome,” he replied, then excused himself to resume his place farther down the table, just as a team of waitresses wheeled in carts loaded with food. He could take Veronica’s touch only in small doses.

Tony Fiorentino had apparently also excused himself because Cece claimed Veronica’s attention, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

“What was that you were saying about the right guy walking into my life at any moment?” As she piled food onto her plate, she went on to report everything she’d learned about Tony.

VERONICA LET HERSELF into the building, which was now outfitted with a dead bolt, and flipped on the light. She stood in the middle of the large space, admiring the beginnings of Green Acres Day Care.

It wasn’t much now, but in a few weeks it would be the brightest, most cheerful place for miles. It was going to require a lot of work and energy, and she looked forward to every moment of it.

She went up to the loft, turning on more lights as she went through the living room and the kitchen.

What she was most anxious to be rid of, she thought as she placed her purse on the counter and put on the kettle, was the silence. When it closed in on her—as it did now after a busy day filled with people—it reminded her of how alone she was.

When this place is filled with children all day, she told herself, you’ll be very grateful for this silence.

But that was little comfort. Silence after a day spent with children was very different from the silence that lived with you day after day when you had no one else. And the few hours spent in the noisy company of the Delanceys brought that home sharply.

She should be grateful she hadn’t had a sibling who’d had to endure what she’d been through as a child. But selfishly, she’d often wished she’d had the company. It would be nice, now that she could come and go as she pleased, to have someone to visit, to make plans and talk over problems with.

She’d had good friends within the order, but she’d left that life behind. She corresponded with some of them, but it wasn’t the same as having them nearby. And Colette, her first friend in French River, would leave tomorrow night for several weeks in Canada.

She grabbed one of her two mugs, found a tea bag and waited for the water to boil. She went to the window that looked down on the slope behind the barn, and saw herself reflected back.

She told herself she would be fine. She’d been alone in one way or another for much of her thirty years, and she’d survived. She just didn’t like it. But life was about learning to cope with what you got, not about getting what you wanted. And pretty soon her life was going to be filled with children. Step Three—friends—was accomplished, and she’d only been in French River a couple of weeks. What more could she want?

She smiled at her reflection, but chose not to think about it. She didn’t want to be greedy.

The kettle whistled, and she filled the waiting mug with hot water. Then she turned off the light, walked into the bedroom—and stopped in the doorway.

Someone had tossed her sleeping bag and pillow onto a double bed already covered with a pink-and-green flowered bedspread. It was a four-poster with large, rounded knobs in a light mush—pine, she guessed.

She approached it slowly, shocked, wondering where it had come from. Colette? But why? She’d done so much for Veronica already.

And then a memory from earlier in the evening struck her like a sledgehammer, and she delved into her pocket for the business card Mike had given her.

“Bob Burgess Furniture and Appliances,” she read aloud into the ringing silence.

After staring at the bed another moment, she climbed into the middle of it and sat down. The mattress was soft and cupped her body. With a sigh of pleasure, she let her head fall back against equally soft pillows.

Every muscle in her body seemed to loosen. But every nerve ending fluttered in confusion.

Mike Delancey had bought her...a bed?

CHAPTER FOUR

IN THE VESTIBULE of the church, Veronica adjusted Colette’s hat to a jaunty angle and stepped back to study the effect. “What do you think?” she asked Megan and Katie, who pressed close, little baskets of daisies and ivy in hand.

“I think she’s the prettiest mother in the whole world.” Katie said.

“I must agree with that.” Armand came from the men’s dressing room, fussing with the unfamiliar tie. His wiry gray hair was combed into order, and the morning coat gave him a handsome elegance.

Colette handed Veronica her bouquet of roses and orchids and reached up to adjust his tie for him.

Katie and Megan trembled with excitement, taking every opportunity to swish the long skirts of their yellow dresses and to look for their reflections in the glass doors of the church. Their beautifully curled and upswept hair made them look like an ad for a children’s shampoo.

Colette wrapped her arms around them, then urged them into position as Shea arrived to walk Rachel up the aisle.

“You ready?” Colette whispered to Veronica. She looked absolutely beautiful and remarkably serene, considering she was about to make a life-altering vow.

“Yes.” Veronica moved to stand behind Megan.

She put a hand to her fluttering stomach, thinking she was probably more nervous than Colette. Being in a church was certainly familiar and comfortable, but she’d never worn a dress like this to a house of worship before.

She felt as though something life-altering was about to happen to her.

She turned to Colette, who was now behind her, her arm tucked into Armand’s. “Did you give me a bed?” she asked quietly.

Colette looked at her through her chin-length veil. “Pardon me?”

“A bed.” Veronica kept her eye on the front of the church, where Shea was just seating Rachel in the first pew. Then she glanced quickly at Colette. “When I got home last night, there was a bed in my bedroom.”

Armand raised an eyebrow. “And that is odd?”

Colette nodded. “Yes, Dad. She didn’t have one.” Then to Veronica, she replied, “No, I didn’t give you a bed. You mean, a new one?”

“Yes. The mattress and box spring are still wrapped in plastic, and there was a bedspread thrown over them.”

Colette giggled. “Did you pray for one? With your connections—”

The opening bars of the wedding processional began with loud, commanding drama, effectively putting an end to conversation. Colette shrugged, then winked.

Veronica faced forward as Katie, well coached on when to start, set off at a stately pace. Megan followed, the length of seven pews left between her and Katie.

Veronica counted pews and decided she was not going to walk up the aisle thinking about the bed. This was her friend’s wedding and it required her full attention.

When Megan reached the seventh pew, Veronica followed, focusing on the front of the church where the minister and the Delancey brothers waited.

Despite her promise to herself, she was temporarily distracted by the handsome picture the brothers made, shoulder to shoulder, family resemblance evident though three distinct personalities were also visible—elegant Tate, tough Mike, witty Shea.

“Tough Mike” who’d helped her move, found her first two clients and bought her a bed.

Veronica returned the smiles of the small group of wedding guests as she continued walking toward the altar, wondering if they could detect her scattered thoughts.

Mike was watching her, a frown line on his forehead that made him look as if he regretted everything he’d done for her.

She didn’t care. There’d been a time in her life when kindnesses had been few and far between, and she’d learned to be grateful for any she received.

She’d also learned to return them.

If anyone deserved kindness, it was a man trapped in a cage of self-imposed guilt and painful memories.

Veronica smiled to herself as she realized that her previous career as a soul-saver made it impossible for her to do what others would probably do in these circumstances—let him work out his problems by himself and keep an understanding distance.

But she couldn’t believe that a man who bemoaned her presence, yet continued to do things for her, didn’t want, deep down, to be her friend.

As she reached the minister, she couldn’t help giving Mike a meaningful glance before turning to take her place beside Megan.

MIKE STOOD BESIDE Tate as he repeated his vows, then handed him the ring that would seal this ancient ritual. This time, he wanted Tate to get back from the marriage all he gave. He’d always thought his brother remarkable in that respect. Even personally beset with problems, Tate could find something to give to someone who needed him.

Mike had seen that firsthand when he’d been placed on leave after the fatal hostage incident. He hadn’t know it then, but when Tate had flown to Dallas to spend time with Mike, his marriage had already ended.

They hadn’t done much—sat around, drank coffee, talked about other things. Then Mike had fallen asleep on the sofa one afternoon, and dreamed the entire incident in detail, except that in his dream he’d been in the room with the victims when it all went bad, instead of outside watching. He’d awakened screaming—and Tate had been there to wrap a blanket around him and hold him while he wept with impotent rage.

That debt was hard to pay back. The small financial stake he’d been able to contribute to the winery hadn’t meant much in view of what Tate had given. For now, the best Mike could do was see to it that everything went smoothly while Tate was honeymooning with Colette and the girls.

Mike was beginning to wonder if he was going to have to send Veronica Callahan away, too, so that he’d be able to concentrate. He’d thought about her half the night, and now he was going to have to live with the image of her floating up the aisle in that sunbeam of a dress.

He’d always thought he preferred women like Lita—curvy women with flowing hair. But this slender little reed with hair not much longer than his was beginning to haunt his thoughts.

He knew what the problem was: he’d been too long without a woman. He looked around surreptitiously as the ceremony continued, half expecting to be struck by ecclesiastical lightning. Thoughts of sex were probably not appropriate for church. Particularly when those thoughts involved an ex-nun.

It didn’t help that when they paired up to leave the church, Veronica gave him a sweet smile and squeezed his arm.

She stood on tiptoe as they reached the vestibule door and whispered in his ear, “Thank you.”

He gave her his best What-are-you-talking-about? expression. It had worked during hostage situations when he’d been accused of slowing proceedings to allow other cops to get in position, and on convicted felons who’d tried to tell him someone else had promised them a deal.

But it didn’t work on Veronica. “You gave me a bed,” she said as they took their places beside Tate and Colette in a line on the church porch.

“Maybe Colette—”

“No. I asked her. You gave me the bed. And you have to let me thank you properly.”

Her dark eyes were so frank that it seemed futile to pretend. “Okay. But stop saying that.” He’d begun to regret having given her such a gift, concerned about how it might look to someone else, or how she might misunderstand his intentions. He—a single man—had given her-an ex-nun-a bed.

Though he did think about her a lot, sex had been far from his mind when he’d walked into the furniture store.

He couldn’t imagine her doing all the work required to get the day care center ready, then getting into a sleeping bag set on a wooden floor-or in a bathtub. He’d seen her possessions. He knew how little she had. He’d had to do something.

She rolled her eyes, apparently never giving a second thought to his intentions.

“Don’t pretend you had evil motives,” she scoffed lightly, smiling and shaking hands with the owners of another local winery as they offered cheerful greetings. “You were probably the kind of cop who gave homeless people shoes, and lost children ice cream.”

He frowned at her. Every cop spent time developing a stern, hard attitude. It irritated him that she could peel it away with a few words.

“Tate thinks we should furnish your apartment as we get things for other parts of the compound. That’s all that was.”

He was grateful to see Felicia Ferryman approaching—probably the first time he’d felt that way since he’d met her. French River’s mayor wore a short, silky dress in a pale shade of lavender that accentuated her delicate features. Her blond hair had been swept up under a broad-brimmed hat that matched the dress.

Mike watched Veronica offer her hand with a warm smile. Felicia took it, her smile more predatory than friendly. When he and his brothers had first moved to the winery, Felicia had set her cap for Tate. When Tate had proposed to Colette, Mike became the object of Felicia’s machinations. He usually dodged her whenever possible. But now he was happy to have an excuse to stop talking about the bed.

“And who are you?” Felicia asked Veronica, shaking her hand. She’d come with Henry Warren, a city councilman who owned a sporting goods store.

“I’m Veronica Callahan,” replied Veronica, innocent and unsuspecting. “I’ve just arrived at the winery.”

Felicia looked her up and down and reacted as she usually did to competition. She stiffened visibly. “Really. In what capacity?”

Mike saw an easy and instant solution to the problem of Felicia. He didn’t stop to think about it twice. “She’s the love of my life,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and leaning closer. “Veronica, this is Felicia Ferryman, our mayor.”

Veronica gazed at him for several seconds, clearly trying to figure out what he was doing. He waited for her to denounce him as a liar.

She turned to Felicia instead. “Hello,” she said mercifully. “It’s, uh, so nice to meet you.”

Felicia intently scanned Mike’s face, then Veronica’s. “You hardly ever leave the winery,” she challenged suspiciously. “Where on earth did you meet?”

“We—met before he came here,” Veronica said, turning to him for corroboration, a flicker of panic in her dark eyes. “I’m from...Los Angeles and... around there.” Her voice fell a little as she named the city, as though afraid it wouldn’t work into whatever Felicia already knew about him.

Felicia pounced. “I thought you came here from Dallas.”

Mike nodded. “I did. We met when she was visiting a friend.” That, at least, was true. She’d been in the B-and-B to have tea with Colette. If Felicia presumed that friend had been in Dallas, that wasn’t his fault....

Felicia looked hurt, but he’d have bet his stake in Delancey Vineyards that it was disappointment rather than pain. She took Veronica’s hand and tapped her naked third finger. “No diamond,” she commented. Then she freed Veronica’s hand and focused on her eyes. “So, you followed him here?”

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