Ross pulled out of his driveway and headed to his mother’s house, the place where he’d grown up. The party was scheduled to begin in a little more than an hour, and he’d promised to arrive early to make sure all of the final details were in order. Suzie had hired a live combo, his sisters had purchased enough food to feed an army, and they’d arranged for his new housekeeper to help out. Despite his best attempts at rationalization and his generous pocket book, however, he felt guilty that he hadn’t played a more active role in the planning of the festivities. He had talked to his mother briefly earlier in the week, and she’d seemed relaxed and even excited about her birthday party, so he’d figured things were well in hand. When he walked through the kitchen door, he would know for sure.
Living in New York, he’d been able to compartmentalize his memories of family and home—and his father. When he’d returned to New York after the funeral, he’d dug into his work to separate himself from his feelings and his grief.
He stopped at a red light, checked the time on the dashboard clock, and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Moving back to Salt Lake City had been hectic, between juggling time at both law firms and trying to be there as much as he could for his mother. All of it had been rough, but walking into his parents’ house every time he visited her was the hardest thing he had to do.
His father should be there. But he wasn’t.
Ross had other misgivings about tonight as well. The party needed to be about his mother. He sincerely hoped it would be about Mom. Maybe even about Mom and Dad, and that was okay too. People would come and go; there would be dancing; there would be conversation. There would be a lot of catching up with family and friends he hadn’t seen in years. And that led to the source of those remaining misgivings.
He was afraid too much of the evening would be focused on him, and he dreaded it. Ross didn’t consider himself to be vain or egocentric. He knew those invited would be, by and large, interested in wishing his mother well on her birthday. But he also knew human nature, and he was afraid that as the perceived “prodigal son” who had left his roots behind and did not fall into the local stereotypes (i.e., married), he would draw undue attention. He thought it pathetic and irritating that his whole life and character could seem to be reduced to a single word. And that word was, in fact, single.
He was sure Susan had invited every person the family had ever known from the beginning of time. That meant he was going to be hit with a barrage of questions—the same questions he’d answered ad nauseam for years. Curious family and friends would be expecting the inside scoop on the life and times of Ross McConnell. “How’s work? You’re a lawyer, right?” That was always followed by the questioner’s favorite lawyer joke. Then they would progress through the usual, “What’s New York like? How are the Nicks (Jets, Giants, Yankees, pick a team and fill in the blank) looking this year? Seen any games?” Next would come, “Lots of single women, I bet—” which inevitably led to the rhetorical, “Not married yet? Confirmed bachelor, huh?” followed by the ever popular, “Any prospects? Holding out for Miss Right, are you?” These were invariably accompanied by grinning, punches in the arm, offers of lineups, and/or raised eyebrows. Not to mention his personal favorite—the quote that he remembered hearing, not for the first time but for the first time directed at him—at his graduation from law school: “You know what Brigham Young said about single men being a menace to society . . .” Yeah, he knew. He was a college-educated, successful, wealthy, religious, law-abiding, hard-working menace to society.
He was also nearly certain, knowing Susan and her undying quest to see him hitched, that she had invited every available female within a radius of fifty miles to their little soiree. Probably with ages ranging from sixteen to sixty. So in addition to the arm pokes and the lawyer jokes, he could look forward to twitters, flirtations, and enough heavy perfume to develop allergies.
He pulled into his mother’s driveway and parked his Mercedes. Gripping the steering wheel, he took a deep breath, bracing himself for the pre-party chaos he expected to precede what was bound to otherwise be an evening of social torture, and forced himself out of his car. Too soon, he was up the steps leading to the back porch, and there was nothing left to do but open the kitchen door.
Immediately, he was flooded with warm light, delicious smells, and the happy murmur of voices. Taken aback, he paused and closed his eyes briefly. He inhaled the spicy aromas, drank in the warmth, and tried to fill the nagging void inside him before shutting the kitchen door. He could see Jackie giving last-minute instructions to a couple of teenage girls who were tying a long string to the cupboard doorknobs, clothesline style, so it hung across his mother’s kitchen. When she was done, Jackie rushed over and threw her arms around him in a tight squeeze.
“Mac! Good. You’re finally here.” Ross gave her a bear hug in return, lifting her off her feet in the process. She chuckled. “We were just going over the activities for the kids. I’m sure you know Natalie’s girls.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of the teens, who were gaping at him with familiar glazed stares.
“Natalie? Oh, Mrs. Forrester. No, I haven’t actually met the girls formally yet.”
Jackie let go of Ross and put her hand gently on the shoulder of a slender blonde girl who looked to be about sixteen. “This lovely young lady is Emma Forrester, and this”—she put her other arm around the waist of a petite adolescent with delicate features and large green eyes he’d already come to recognize—“is her younger sister, Callie.” Callie flushed bright pink and looked at her feet. She reminded Ross of a forest pixie. “And this young lady,” Jackie continued, taking her hand off Emma’s shoulder and placing it on the shoulder of a tall girl with long dark hair, “is Emma’s friend Tess.”
Ross smiled and nodded politely. “Ladies.”
Jackie slipped her arm around Ross’s and walked him into the hallway. “Those girls’ job is to keep the pygmy-sized natives from becoming restless.”
“Ah.”
“And you are going to pay them handsomely after they do. I may even suggest bribes to the natives themselves so things stay sane.”
“My wallet is yours to command, as always.”
“Come see Mother’s cake. You paid for it too.”
“And for the band and for the refreshments, not to mention my little housekeeper.”
Jackie looked at him funny.
“What?”
She narrowed her eyes and studied his face.
“What?” he demanded again.
She looked like she was puzzling something out in her mind, but then she smiled at Ross. “Nothing. I was just thinking about something Mom said last week. It’s nothing.” They heard the front doorbell ring, and Jackie said, “I’ll go see who that is. The cake is in the dining room. Go check it out.”
The large table in the dining room had been converted into a buffet, the chairs normally around it having been removed to the family room, where they and folding chairs from the church had been placed conversationally for guests to use. His mother’s best lace tablecloth covered the dining room table, and in the center was a lovely three-tiered cake with creamy frosting and sugar flowers that looked so real Ross was tempted to inhale their fragrance. Roses in deep autumn colors, golden calla lilies, deep violet pansies, and lily of the valley gracefully wound their way down the cake. Matching sheet cakes on either side assured every guest a piece. There were no candles anywhere. It looked more like a wedding cake than a birthday cake, and Ross was grimly reminded once again of the dual nature of the evening’s party.
In addition to the cakes, the buffet table held large, deep platters of iced shrimp, silver trays of miniature puff pastries with a chicken filling, cubes of imported cheeses, small spears of fruit, and open-faced finger sandwiches of various types.
Jackie walked back in and unconsciously straightened a stack of napkins. “Suzie and Scott and the gang should be here by now. I’m going to call her and see what’s holding them up. She and I are going to take turns mingling with guests and helping Natalie keep the buffet stocked. Scott and Rick are assigned to take pictures all evening. Your job is to not eat all the food at the buffet, mingle, dance with every female who walks in the door, and look important. In other words, you get to play host.”
Well, that pretty much ensured a fate worse than death, although he supposed he’d half expected it and deserved it for being AWOL all week. He would rather stick closer to the food than the females who would invariably cross his path tonight though.
“Fair enough,” he said as Jackie scooted out the door again. He was turning to go find his mother to wish her a happy birthday when Natalie walked into the room carrying a large silver tray in each hand. She glanced his way and, startled, nearly upended a tray of berry tarts. Reacting quickly, Ross grabbed the edge of the tray and helped her stabilize it, then took it entirely from her. He set it in an open spot on the table as she placed the other tray next to it.
“Tragedy narrowly averted,” he said, smiling at her.
She smiled back, and he noticed she had a small dimple in one cheek. “Thank you. Your timing was perfect. I hate to imagine the mess if you hadn’t been there to rescue these tarts.”
He picked up a tart and popped it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he swallowed and nodded. “Mmm. Yes, it was definitely a good thing I was here to rescue these tarts. But I think my perfect timing has more to do with catching you off guard than saving dessert. I seem to do that each time we meet. Maybe that makes it less than perfect timing.”
She flushed slightly, but there was a twinkle in her eye that bespoke a sense of humor. “I suppose it depends on your goal. If your goal has been to help me win the big prize on America’s Funniest Videos, your timing has been pretty good so far.”
“Darn! Forgot to turn on my video recorder.”
“There goes my ten grand.”
“Did you make any of these delicacies?” He asked, gesturing toward the spread on the table. “Those cookies of yours tasted pretty good, and apparently, they make good prostheses too.” He smiled as she stifled a chuckle.
“Thanks—I think. I did bring a batch of brownies for the kids, just in case they weren’t too keen on stuffed mushrooms.”
“Brownies, huh? Fudge brownies with lots and lots of frosting?”
“Of course,” she answered seriously.
“With walnuts?”
“One batch has walnuts; the other doesn’t, in case some kids don’t like them.”
“I think it’s only fair that you save one big brownie with walnuts for your boss, don’t you?” He smiled, his eyebrows lifting inquisitively.
She smiled back, but he saw her eyes cool slightly. “One big brownie with walnuts for the boss.” Gesturing her head slightly toward the kitchen, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to the kitchen.”
Ross watched her leave, puzzled slightly by her change of mood, and then headed to the living room to give the guest of honor a kiss. It was time to greet his mother and brace himself for the deluge of guests.
In the living room, the curtains had been drawn wide open to show the expanse of windows that faced south and west, overlooking the valley. It was a glorious autumn night, the sky deepening to violet, the first stars peeping out one by one in contrast to the bank of twinkling city lights.
Ross found his mom watching the band set up. Seated comfortably on the sofa, she looked radiant, her hair shiny and curled softly around her face. Ross remembered what she was like when he was a child looking up into her bright brown eyes and dark hair. It hadn’t taken many years before he’d been looking down into those eyes and that hair had been threaded with silver. He wondered if she had shrunk a couple of inches over the past year; she was thinner, he could tell, but her eyes still sparkled like they always had when she saw him walking toward her.
She gave him her cheek when he leaned over to kiss her. Nodding in the direction of the band, she said, “I was afraid those boys were only going to play rock-and-roll music, and how can a person carry a conversation with that kind of noise blasting around them? But I think we came to an understanding.” She looked over at the drummer, who adjusted his stool and winked at her. Ross grinned at him. His mother continued. “I asked that boy there if they take requests. I want to hear ‘September Song.’”
Ross tensed, but he asked lightly, “‘September Song’ in October?”
It was the song his parents had danced to at their wedding. It was their song.
She absently reached for Ross’s hand and squeezed it. “Del would have liked it.” Abruptly, she shifted topics. “That little girl of yours is quite the find! She had this place spic and span in the blink of an eye.”
Pulled back from thoughts of his father, Ross said, “Little girl of mine? Oh, you mean Mrs. Forrester. I’m glad she worked out. The place looks great.”
Dorothy patted the seat next to her, and he sat and threw his arm casually across the back of the sofa behind her slender shoulders. “Sixty-five years. Can you imagine, Ross? It seems like only yesterday I was hauling you home by the ear when you got into that fight in fifth grade with—what was his name? Johnny? Tommy?
“Tommy Johnson.”
“Oh, that’s right. Bud and Elaine’s boy. You and he were never very good friends in grade school, I remember. Your dad was fit to be tied when he came home that night and learned you’d blackened that boy’s eye. You were grounded for a month.”
“Tommy couldn’t get it into his head that I didn’t want to share my lunch money with him. Some people require more explanation than others.”
“And then there was the time Del went looking for you when you were late for curfew on prom night.”
Ross’s lips curved up slightly. He and Kendra Bennett had been doing quite a bit of very memorable kissing, which was the real reason he’d been late for curfew. Then, after seeing her safely inside, he’d discovered his car battery was dead. He’d quickly returned to Kendra’s front door and quietly knocked, and luckily he and Kendra had been wielding the jumper cables when his dad had driven up, his normally mild countenance stern and patriarchal. When he’d seen the cables, he’d visibly relaxed. Ross had been out way past curfew but had dodged a huge bullet, thanks to that battery. He was drawn out of his reverie when he heard his mother chuckle.
“You always thought you pulled one over on your dad that night. But the first thing he noticed was the fogged windows of your car.”
“He never said anything to me.”
“He figured you’d learned your lesson. You knew he’d hunt you down if you ever missed curfew again, and the looks on your faces told him you were both guilty of something but, fortunately, not too guilty.”
Dorothy began to stand up, and Ross rose to lend her his arm. “Ah! Here they are, finally!” she exclaimed as her grandchildren hurried over to give her hugs.
Ross slapped Brett, Jackie’s eldest son, on the back and then grabbed the curly-topped cherub who was squeezing both of his legs and tossed her high in the air.
“Uncle Mac! Higher!” she squealed, and he tossed her again, exactly the way she had requested.
“I can’t watch when you do that,” Dorothy muttered.
With his niece now firmly planted on his left hip, Ross reached out and shook his brother-in-law Rick’s hand.
Rick kissed Ross’s mom on her cheek and said, “Suzie and Scott are parking their car, so they should be inside any minute.” He glanced at his watch when the doorbell rang. “And let the games begin!”
Soon conversation was humming in the living room, where Ross’s mother spent most of the evening greeting people. Guests then wandered through to the family room for more conversation, if that suited, and dancing, with music provided by the band. Old standards and classic rock wafted pleasantly through the house. The volume level was low and discreet, and people were enjoying themselves, whether dancing or conversing. Guests also helped themselves to refreshments in the dining room. Conversation areas in nearly all of the rooms throughout the main floor were full of guests. Jackie and Suzie and their husbands took turns visiting with friends and neighbors and refilling shrimp bowls and sandwich trays. Smiling and relaxed, Jackie was the quintessential cool hostess, while Suzie, fueled on adrenaline, flitted from person to person and traded jokes, compliments, and gossip.
Ross, relegated to the job of host, attempted to keep a smile on his face and his real thoughts to himself.
A half century of his parents’ friends and neighbors banged him on the shoulder, pumped his arm vigorously, made him guess their names—knowing full well who he was while he had no clue who they were—and told him every embarrassing anecdote from his childhood. Distant elderly relatives he may have met only once in his life hugged him and pasted lipstick kisses on his cheeks. This would have been more than enough to tolerate with equanimity, but Suzie had really outdone herself on the invitation list. She had somehow conjured up the name of every childhood friend, every high-school sweetheart and pal, and it seemed, every female to whom he’d ever been introduced. The muscles in his cheeks ached from continuous smiling. He wondered to himself if all of his grade-school teachers would be walking through the door at some point during the evening.
Amazingly, the teachers didn’t show up. Most of his local law firm did though, and at that point, he politely excused himself from them, grabbed Suzie by the arm, and dragged her to the back of the house.
“What were you thinking, inviting all of my law colleagues to this? I’ve only been at that firm for a few months. This evening is supposed to be about Mom. There is no reason for any of them to be here.”
“First of all, you were supposed to call and help make plans. When you didn’t call, I had to decide by myself whom to invite. And you’re wrong, Ross. There is every reason for me to invite them. We’ve never met any of your coworkers, here or in New York, so I called your secretaries and got them to send me names. This was an opportunity for all of us to see who the people are who you prefer to spend your time with.”
“Did you say secretaries—plural? And what do you mean; prefer to spend my time? It’s work! Did you invite Scott’s and Rick’s coworkers too?”
Suzie had the decency to flush. “No. But they haven’t been missing from the family for nearly twenty years either.”
The arrow hit home. That, in a nutshell, was it. The sisters had families; the families had each other. They were a unit. He, on the other hand, was only an appendage to it, one that had been missing for a long time. Even his mother had his father. Dad was gone, but he still enveloped Mom’s heart and the life she led. Suzie had Scott; Jackie had Rick. Ross really had only himself. But now his sister was behaving like a jealous girlfriend, insisting that all his acquaintances be paraded in front of her so she could determine what he saw in them that she was lacking. That, on top of his having to pretend he was some sort of family patriarch while he played host in his mother’s home, was the final irony: that they, having each other for all these years, were somehow betrayed by Ross, who had no one. No one! He, forced to play magnanimous host in his mother’s home, didn’t have a real home of his own anymore.
Ross shook his head, turned, and walked down the hall, back to the guests he needed to entertain.
But he didn’t manage to leave quickly enough to miss Suzie’s parting shot. “You better be on your best behavior when Ashley arrives to meet you in a few minutes.”
By the time Ross reached the living room, more guests had arrived. He had just shaken hands with his mother’s new bishop and his old scout leader when he heard a squeal. He turned and found himself crushed in the arms of a woman who seemed vaguely familiar. He pulled back and studied her face.
“Kendra Bennett!” He smiled at her upturned face, still pretty after all these years. “What a coincidence! My mother and I were just talking about a certain prom night that occurred several lifetimes ago.” Suzie really had done a thorough job with the invitation list.
“Ross! Look at you! You always were devastatingly handsome, and you still are.” She released him from the embrace. “It’s Kendra Dickson now. This is my husband, Dave. Dave, Ross McConnell. Ah, prom. It was the only time my date ever told me his car wouldn’t work—after I had already gone in the house.”
“I used the old dead-battery excuse instead of saying I was out of gas, right?”
The men laughed and shook hands. Ross politely listened while Kendra, his high-school kissing partner, told him about her husband, his company, Dickson Realty, and their three children. She had been a very appealing girl; she was now a lovely woman.
Kendra’s husband, Dave, was asking him how the Jets would fare against the Patriots that week when Suzie grabbed his arm. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but there is someone I would like Ross to meet.”
Kendra’s eyebrows arched in surprise at the interruption.
Ross smiled apologetically. “Help yourself to the refreshments, and I’ll catch up with you later. Pleasure to meet you, Dave. You’re a lucky man.” He let Suzie lead him away as Kendra and her husband walked toward the dining room.
“Ross, I’d like you to meet Ashley Howard. Ashley, this is my brother, Ross. Megan, you remember Ross, don’t you?”
Ross looked at Megan, who did look much nicer now that her horse teeth were fixed, and then at Ashley. He extended his hand. “A pleasure.” Suzie could have done worse, he conceded. Ashley was tall and slender, with a nice, animated face and short, dark hair.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Ross,” Ashley said. “I understand you’re an attorney.”
He nodded. He waited for the lawyer joke to come next, but it didn’t materialize. That scored her a couple of additional points, he thought. “Boring work, really. What is it that you do, Ashley?”
Ten minutes later, with Suzie and Megan hovering the entire time, Ashley walked out the door having given Ross her phone number. He had promised to call her sometime soon. Ashley was articulate and nice to look at and was the branch manager of a bank. Suzie had done a lot worse in the past. Ross hadn’t exactly heard bells and trumpets, but he could abide by his agreement with his sister on this particular introduction.
He decided he’d earned a refreshment break. He loaded a plate with some of everything and headed toward Kendra and Dave, who were sitting by themselves near the designer birthday cake. He overheard Kendra say to her husband, “I know, Dave, but it’s still such a shock! Imagine, he makes as much money as he does, and she is forced to do this.”
Ross stiffened. Were they judging him and his money? Were they talking about his mother?
He was on the verge of interrupting when Dave said, “I sign his commission checks. I know how much he makes, Kendra. He’s always trying to guilt me into a pay increase, always complaining about her constant demands and how much he’s forced to give her. Are you sure she really said she was working here tonight?”
“Yes. I asked her if she was a friend of the family. She looked so embarrassed when she recognized us, I felt just awful. She said, no, that she was working in the kitchen, and then she vanished—Oh! Hello, Ross! Care to join us?”
Ross settled into a chair next to Dave. There was only one person who would classify as kitchen help tonight, and that was Mrs. Forrester. Interesting. “How’s the food?”
By the time the conversation ended, Ross had a fairly accurate read on Dave Dickson and his very lucrative real estate agency, as well as some probing questions about his housekeeper’s ex-husband. He glanced at his watch. It was only seven forty-five. If this crowd was any indication, this party was not going to end on time, despite the fact that the invitations read seven to nine. They might be lucky to be out of here by midnight. He’d seen Mrs. Forrester a few times, quietly and efficiently restocking the buffet, straightening things up as guests left, generally making herself useful. The words came back to him, He makes as much money as he does, and she is forced to do this.
“Ross, darling!”
Ross knew that voice and found himself mentally forming a word that would make his sisters blush. And right about then, he wanted to do more to one of his sisters than simply make her blush. Like something painful. “Gina, Monty. What brings you to our humble city?”
Gina Rogers gave him a quick air kiss on the cheek. “Why you, darling, of course. We met your mother—lovely woman. Just lovely.” She looked around with the jaded eye of a connoisseur. “And such a charming home.”
LaMonte Rogers offered his hand. “We had business in San Francisco, if you’ll recall. When your little invitation came to the firm, Gina suggested joining me and stopping by on the way. Killing two birds with one stone, as it were.” He wasted no time loading a plate.
“Yes,” Gina purred. “You’ve meant so much to us over the years.” She ran her hand down his arm. “How could we ever say no to you?”
Mrs. Forrester came into the dining room at that moment with a fresh supply of stuffed mushrooms. She stopped dead in her tracks. Ross suddenly felt awkward, like he owed her an explanation. What would make him react that way? He caught Gina’s eyes, which had narrowed slightly. The old pro had sensed something—what, Ross wasn’t completely sure, but instinctively he knew it meant trouble.
“The goodies certainly look irresistible,” Gina said, walking around the table toward Mrs. Forrester.
When Ross realized Gina was looking at his housekeeper and not the food, he clenched his teeth, afraid he’d say something he’d regret.
“Tell me, do you happen to have a bar at this cute little soiree?” Gina asked, then answered her own question before Ross could reply. “Of course you don’t, not at the home of Saint Ross. Oh well.” She helped herself to some shrimp. “Is there anything to drink around here besides that awful punch? Bottled water perhaps? Milk maybe?” She smirked. “Find me something suitable, will you, miss?”
Ross felt strangely protective of his little blonde housekeeper. Mrs. Forrester didn’t deserve to become Gina’s newest target simply because she had walked into the room. He needed to do something. “Monty, why don’t I take you and Gina across the hall? We’ve got a fairly decent band in there. I understand they’re taking requests.”
“Only if you’ll promise to dance with me, darling,” Gina cooed. “That’s my request.”
Ross gestured to the door and glanced at Mrs. Forrester as she headed back to the kitchen. She was pale, but there was an oddly purposeful look on her face.
The band was playing a slow ballad. Gina led Ross to the floor and curled into him with all the skill of a predatory feline. He subtly eased back from her and looked her in the eye. She was strikingly beautiful, he admitted, but at the moment, he felt he was tangling with Medusa. “Cut the act, Gina. Why are you and Monty here? And don’t try to sell the whole sentimental line.”
“Darling! How could we resist? That invitation was like receiving an audience with the Pope. I was too curious. I merely told Daddy that as long as he was crossing the country anyway, we owed it to our esteemed colleague to pay a visit. We’re staying at a quaint little place somewhere in the mountains for the night if you want to join us later.” Gina smiled mirthlessly and ran a finger slowly down his lapel. “This has been so enlightening, let me tell you. Oh—it’s about time! I’m parched.” She took the offered glass of ice water from Mrs. Forrester, who had a professional and disinterested look on her face. “It has gotten so very warm around here all of a sudden.” She sipped, and Ross watched Mrs. Forrester slip quietly back to the kitchen.
Why was Gina so insistent on baiting his housekeeper? There was no reason for it, and it bothered him.
Monty was happily absorbed in his food and a conversation with a partner in Ross’s Salt Lake firm, he could see. Since Ross didn’t care to play into Gina’s games, he decided it was time to make a polite getaway. “Excuse me, Gina. I must see to the other guests.”
She sent him a slit-eyed look, then sauntered over and seated herself by her father with a fluid motion that had every man in the room staring.
I must see to the other guests—as soon as I’ve had a few minutes to myself, Ross thought.
He walked determinedly to the back of the house and made his way out the door. The October night air was bracing. He breathed in deeply. The air was pungent with the scent of damp leaves and raw earth. He shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled through the backyard. His mother’s prized roses were nearly bare now, with only a few stubborn leaves refusing to succumb to the inevitable. He plucked one and rolled it between his fingers. The brittle edges of the leaf broke away. He felt like the leaf, barely pliable, dead around the edges. The thought disgusted him.
Tossing the abused leaf to the ground, he wandered to the side of the house, where his car was parked. The din of conversation and music seemed far away, like an unconscious thought. He knew he should return to the party; it was barely eight o’clock, and Suzie would send out search and rescue if she lost sight of him for more than five minutes, but he leaned against the hood of his Mercedes and crossed his arms against the cold. Five minutes was all he asked.
He wasn’t exactly sure how long he’d been standing there, lost in his thoughts, when he heard the kitchen door open and the sound of footsteps crunching in the gravel nearby. He looked up. The light from the shaded kitchen window briefly caught the highlights of a blonde head walking toward him. It was Mrs. Forrester carrying a bag to the garbage can, he guessed. His eyes were adjusted to the dark; hers apparently were not because he didn’t think she had noticed him yet. He moved away from the car and straightened.
She jolted and looked up warily at the sound. Ross knew the minute she recognized who was out there in the dark with her because her eyes flared. The thought nagged at him again—where had he seen her before? He was certain he had.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She slipped past him in the dark. He heard the bag land in the garbage can and the crunch of the gravel beneath her steps as she returned. She headed toward the kitchen door.
“Wait, Mrs. Forrester.” Why did he say that? He’d come out here to be alone for a few minutes.
She paused on the first step and silently turned to look at him.
“I wanted to thank you for your help tonight. I’m sure my sisters and mother appreciate all you’ve done.”
“No thanks are necessary.”
“Oh, I think they are. You’ve done more than merely keep the food going. You’ve given my mother and sisters peace of mind. And that, Mrs. Forrester, deserves my undying gratitude.”
He could sense more than see her smile in the darkness. “Well then, you’re very welcome.” She turned back to the stairs.
“Mrs. Forrester—”
She stopped with her hand on the kitchen doorknob and turned back again.
“Have we—I keep getting the impression that we’ve met before. It seems unlikely, I know, but I’ve been wrestling with it for a—” And then he knew. His simple reference to wrestling brought Mr. WWF into full focus. And her green eyes. “Little America.”
She audibly gasped. “The dark knight,” she whispered.
Ross cocked his head. “No, it wasn’t dark that night. It was early September, as I recall. And early evening. You were with pretty interesting company, I remember.” He waited a beat. “Boyfriend?”
“Doug. What? No.”
“Maybe I’m putting my foot in it here, but he didn’t exactly seem the type to go for tap-dancing wannabes.”
Mrs. Forrester smiled slightly. “Not many men do, I suspect. No, it was a blind date.”
“Ah.” Why did he feel relieved? Probably because he was finding out she was a nice, helpful person, and he’d been genuinely concerned for her that evening. That had to be it. “I’ve been on a few unusual blind dates of my own over the years; although I confess none of them sported Maori body art. At least not that I could see.”
“I imagine not.”
“Well, I’ll confess to having been concerned at the situation that evening. It was apparently misplaced.” He raised an eyebrow in question, though he doubted she could see it in the dark.
“I’ve learned that sometimes first impressions are deceiving, Mr. McConnell.”
“That’s true.” He wasn’t sure if she was complimenting her tattooed friend or pronouncing a judgment of some kind on him.
She opened the door, and the resulting slice of blinding light and noise jarred his senses.
“I’d better be getting back to the kitchen now,” she said. “Please excuse me.”
* * *
The dining room, at present, was fairly quiet, so Natalie decided it would be a great opportunity to replenish the chicken puff tray. She stepped into the dining room and slipped to the back of the table, where she was better able to access the tray and stay out of the way of any hungry guests who decided to wander in. Two women were loading their plates and talking in hushed tones. Natalie tried hard not to listen, but when she heard Ross’s name, she immediately tuned in, despite her best intentions.
“So, did you see him? Ross?” The woman, who looked to be about Natalie’s age but with the leathery complexion of years in the tanning salon, glanced around quickly, then turned back to her friend.
“Uh-huh. Very dishy.” The second woman, who was a little bit on the plump side, pushed a stuffed mushroom into her mouth and placed two more on her plate.
“He was so hot in high school. I remember doing whatever I could to hang out with Suzie so I could come over to the house and stare at him.”
The second woman swallowed. “Did he ever ask you out?”
The first woman sighed. “No. He was dating Kendra Bennett at the time and never even looked at me. She’s Kendra Dickson now. Do you know her?”
“I don’t think so. I was a year behind you in school, remember?” The second woman was munching on a tiny ham sandwich now.
“Oh, that’s right. And Suzie and I were just sophomores when he was the big senior everything. Suzie told me he’s never married. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Really? That’s weird, don’t you think?” She shoved the remainder of the ham into her mouth and licked mustard off her finger.
“Kind of. He’s been in New York. I imagine he could have all the women he wants. Although his mother would probably kill him if he did—have them, if you know what I mean.” She chuckled at the implied double meaning in her words. The leathery woman picked up a berry custard tartlet and slid it onto her plate. “I think I’ll go talk to him, see if he remembers me.”
“Your divorce from Mike is final, then?”
Natalie pulled herself away from the table when the conversation took this tangent. She went to the kitchen, filled the tray with chicken puffs, and returned to the dining room. The women hadn’t budged from their spot.
The first woman was loading her plate with cocktail sauce and cold shrimp. “And Suzie was furious at him. They had it out again earlier tonight, and I couldn’t get her to stop ranting about it. Then she told me that he’d given her a list of requirements that a woman has to have for him to be interested in her. She said he wasn’t kidding either. She was so angry at him. She said he’ll never get married, and it’ll serve him right.”
Natalie busied herself straightening napkins.
“So what was on the list?”
“Well, the first item on the list is single, as in never married, although at his age, that will be next to impossible, and it won’t stop me from saying hello to him.” The woman glanced back out the door and didn’t see Natalie glance up. Determining the coast was clear, the woman continued in her overloud whisper. “College grad, beauty queen, professional, a financial success. The whole package.”
A previously smooth napkin wrinkled in Natalie’s hand.
The second woman paused with a chocolate cream tartlet halfway to her mouth. “Well, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why he’s not married. He’s looking for the perfect woman. But the perfect woman doesn’t exist. You’d have to put Mother Teresa, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Oprah in a blender, along with a Victoria’s Secret model, to get the woman you’re talking about. And that leaves him free to entertain himself with all those women you said he’s got available to him back East.” She paused in thought and took a moment to set the tartlet down on her plate. “And if no one meets the requirements, it’s not his fault. It gives the impression he’s still looking for a relationship. He doesn’t have to actually find one.”
Natalie and the first woman both stared in amazement. The second woman shrugged. “I saw a show on cable about men who won’t commit.”
The first woman sighed. “I’d take Ross McConnell for one evening, no commitment necessary, if I could. I imagine there are a lot of women out there who would as well.”
“Well, that would be all you would get, if you were lucky, since you didn’t graduate from college and you aren’t a rich beauty queen.” She laughed and grabbed a slice of birthday cake.
Natalie refused then and there to be one of obviously dozens—no, hundreds—of women drooling after Ross McConnell. He was her boss. She was an ordinary, undereducated, divorced housekeeper with three kids and crow’s feet. She may have the same employment as Cinderella, but that was as far as the parallel went. Natalie had given up on fairy tales and happily ever after. Buck Jacobsen had put a huge dent in her dreamy-eyed view of love when she was a young girl, and Wade Forrester had finished the job off completely and then stomped on it. She had to get away from these women and their talk, so she headed back to the kitchen and safety.
I am a fool, an utter fool, Natalie thought. She grabbed an apple and fastened it to one of the many strings tied to the clothesline crossing Mrs. McConnell’s kitchen. The apple-eating contest for the grandkids was about to begin. Natalie decided she was going to hang out in the kitchen and keep a low profile for a little while. It would allow Wade’s boss, Mr. Dickson, and his wife plenty of time to leave, the gossipy women would disappear, and, hopefully, the nasty goddess of beauty would slither back to her fiery cave. Natalie also vowed to put the idea of Ross McConnell as her dark knight safely on the shelf, out of sight.
She couldn’t get over the fact that he was the man she’d encountered during her blind date with Doug. She had been so flustered at the time. Her usually reliable visual memory had put together only his essence, tall and dark, strong. Handsome. That essence had become her fictitious hero. There had been a couple of days recently when she had felt overwhelmed with life, when Wade had been at his nastiest and she had envisioned this dark knight coming to her rescue, saving the day, like he had tried to do in the restaurant lobby. It was silly nonsense, Natalie knew, but it felt therapeutic, just like her art projects did. It had given her a creative release, a happy ending, and had put a smile on her face. She knew she could rely only on herself, so she had kept her knight to herself and trudged on. Now that this storybook hero had an actual name and face, his name and face, she wanted to laugh and then weep from embarrassment.
She was glad it had been dark outside, or she was sure Mr. McConnell would have seen straight through her. It was bad enough that every time he walked into a room Natalie stopped breathing. After what she’d gone through with Wade and Buck, she’d sworn off men, and then bam! The first attractive man who came along reduced her to the behavior of a silly, dumbstruck fool. Of course, it had become apparent that she wasn’t the only one to behave like that. There had been many females in close proximity to him all evening. Very attentive, clingy females vying for his attention. Virtually every female here, in fact, from the curly-headed niece she had witnessed him tossing in the air to the devastating siren who had ordered Natalie around like her personal slave.
It was enough, she thought as she picked up an apple and shined it on her apron before tying it onto a string. She had to take herself firmly in hand. A faceless fantasy knight may have been pathetic but had been virtually harmless. A knight who was Ross McConnell, on the other hand, was dangerous. He was too attractive, too successful, too everything for her to think about. He had too much power. She knew all about what giving her power to someone else could do. Natalie didn’t have much power to begin with and what she did have had been hard won. Besides, she thought as she tied the last apple to its string, someone like Ross McConnell would never look twice at someone like her, except to point out a streak she might have missed cleaning the bathroom mirror.
“Okay! Who’s ready to play?” She looked around the kitchen. Thankfully, no guest children had been brought to what amounted to a grown-up’s birthday party, which had left only Dorothy’s grandchildren to be entertained. Suzie’s two children, Riley and Regan, knew their cousins well, and Jackie’s older kids were used to running herd on the younger ones, so the atmosphere was stress free and fun. Callie had quickly developed a fast friendship with Jackie’s fourteen-year-old daughter, Mindy, and a deep crush on Mindy’s twin brother, Matt. Emma and Tess had already exchanged cell phone numbers with a ruggedly handsome young man named Brett while they’d been up to their elbows in pumpkin guts. Natalie thought Brett was Jackie’s son too. The teens had already cleaned out four pumpkins to make into jack-o-lanterns and were nearly done scooping the seeds out of a fifth, while Callie and Mindy entertained the younger children by making ghosts out of Tootsie Pops and Kleenex. Earlier in the evening, Natalie had observed Matt prowling from the buffet table to the older teens, all the while keeping a nonchalant eye on Callie. It unnerved her that some boy was checking out her baby until she noticed her baby was surreptitiously checking out said boy. “Let’s get this contest underway,” she said.
Emma, Tess, and Brett rinsed pumpkin from their hands and arms and quickly selected apples conveniently located next to each other. Mindy chose hers, and Matt grabbed his spot.
“There are two more apples,” Natalie said. “You in, Cal-pal?” Callie had been happily carrying three-year-old Lexie around and watching Matt from beneath lowered lashes.
Callie now looked at Matt and blushed. He grinned back at her, and she said, “Sure. Lexie wants to, don’t you, Lex?” When the toddler nodded vigorously, Natalie smiled and moved a chair into place next to one of the remaining vacant apples for Lexie to stand on.
“How about you, Bob?” Tess called out. Natalie hesitated, but then Emma and Callie joined in, chanting “Bob! Bob!” followed by the others.
Natalie peeked quickly out the door at the buffet table. Things were still slow for the moment, and there was plenty of food. “Oh, okay. But I’ll be tough to beat!”
The boys shouted their objections at that.
“Callie, if you’re going to be helping Lexie, why don’t you also be the judge to see who wins?” Natalie suggested.
“Great!” Taking her newfound authority very seriously, Callie looked around and called, “Everyone ready? Get set. Go!”
Apples on strings started swinging like pendulums as laughing mouths and teeth tried to grab hold of the slippery apple skins.
“Hey! No hands, Matt. That’s cheating,” Brett yelled, which was followed by a maniacal laugh from Matt.
There were a few muffled sounds of pain as swinging apples bumped into faces. Natalie had almost taken a bite, but her apple was too smooth and didn’t have any of those nice nubby spots where she could easily sink her teeth in and gain an advantage. At one point, she noticed that Callie was holding Lexie’s apple for her so Lexie could take tiny nibbles.
Natalie had finally taken a good first bite and had half of her apple eaten when she heard Brett yell, “Done!”
“Stop, everyone!” Callie said as she checked his apple.
It was clean to the core.
Brett started to dance, his arms swinging up in victory.
“Brett won, Uncle Mackie!” Lexie called out. “He won!”
Grinning, Natalie turned toward this Uncle Mackie and froze when she saw who he was. Darn it! Why did he always catch her doing stuff like this? This time she was attacking a hanging apple like a demented giraffe.
Well, at least she wasn’t wearing her tap shoes.
“I was watching, Lex.” He shot an amused glance at Natalie that made her feel like she was seven. “Well done, Brett,” he said and clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “You’re keeping the proud McConnell legacy alive, I see.”
Brett laughed.
“Uncle Mackie, are you gonna carve pumpkins with us? We’re gonna carve pumpkins next! Please, Uncle Mackie?”
He picked Lexie up off the chair and plopped her comfortably on his hip. “Probably not, kiddo. It’s my job to talk to the grown-ups.”
Natalie assumed that comment had been directed at her and her participation in the apple contest. Setting her teeth, she fixedly ignored Ross and turned to Brett. “Brett, does your grandmother have a paper and pencil handy around here? And a magic marker?” As Brett hustled around the kitchen to investigate, Natalie sat down at the kitchen table and continued. “Lexie, what would you like your pumpkin to look like? We’ll draw pictures, and you can choose.”
Lexie wriggled out of Ross’s arms as Brett returned with paper and pencil. Natalie picked Lexie up and placed her on her lap. Emma and Tess got busy watching Brett draw on his pumpkin—although, really, it looked like they were more intent on looking at handsome Brett.
“A scary witch? A Halloween cat? A Frankenstein monster? What would you like, Lex?” Natalie quickly sketched out a few ideas and then laid the pencil down to let Lexie study what she’d drawn.
Natalie noticed Ross take a quick glance at the sketches as well, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he quietly left the kitchen after that.
“Ooh, I want that one,” Mindy said, grabbing Natalie’s drawing of Frankenstein to use.
Lexie still hadn’t said anything, so Natalie gave her a quick squeeze and whispered again, “What would you like your pumpkin to look like, honey?”
Lexie’s fingers had slid into her mouth. She whispered back, “Not scary.”
“Okay, honey. Not scary.”
“A princess.”
A princess. It seemed like only yesterday that Emma and Callie had been Lexie’s age and asking for princesses. “Cal, it looks like we are going to be paid a royal Halloween visit again,” she said.
Callie giggled, and Emma looked up from what Brett was doing. “Princess Pumpkinseed!”
“The very lady.”
“Is she a real princess?” Lexie asked.
“Oh yes. She is the princess of All Hallows Glen.” It had been an interesting challenge to come up with a nonthreatening Halloween figure Natalie could carve on pumpkins when her girls were little. Princess Pumpkinseed had been the result. Ryan had insisted his own pumpkin be as terrifying as possible, and he and Wade had made it a challenge each year to make the result more and more menacing. The girls would scream and avoid the front porch as long as the “men’s” creation was lurking there. Princess Pumpkinseed had reigned merrily in the kitchen. Back during some of the better times.
Natalie slid Lexie off her lap onto the chair next to her. “Sit here and I’ll tell you all about her.”
Lexie propped her head in her hands and listened spellbound as Natalie drew and cut and carved and spun stories of Princess Pumpkinseed, stories Natalie had woven over the years for her own girls’ enjoyment. Eventually, Princess Pumpkinseed sat regally in the center of the kitchen table, surrounded by her royal court: Frankenstein, a traditional Jack, a rather lopsided vampire, and Prince Bart Simpson, his hair forming a perfect jack-o-lanternish crown. But by then, Lexie’s head had settled itself on her crossed arms, and she was sound asleep.
“I’ll put her on Grandma’s bed,” Brett whispered to Natalie as some of the other grandchildren made their way out of the kitchen, and he gently lifted Lexie into his arms. Natalie nodded and, figuring the coast was probably clear by now, decided to check on things once again. It was past nine, but there were still a surprising number of guests milling about.
Making rounds through the rooms to clear away refreshment clutter, Natalie refocused on her resolve. She’d enjoyed her time with the kids, but she was here to work tonight. She wasn’t a guest. She headed toward the family room and deliberately set about straightening chairs and generally tidying. The band was still playing, and Natalie saw that Mrs. McConnell—Dorothy—was dancing with her grandson Matt. Ross was dancing with five-year-old Regan, her small feet settled atop his while Ross moved to the beat. Jackie and Rick were snuggled closely together, swaying intimately to the music. Looking away, Natalie quickly picked up abandoned clutter left by guests. Eventually, her hands were full of napkins and used plates, so she turned to leave.
As she started walking out, she heard Dorothy say, “No, no, don’t cut in, Ross. I’m having such a nice time with Matthew here. Find yourself another partner.”
Natalie was almost to the door when a deep voice behind her quietly said, “Well, you heard the general. Do you know any steps that don’t require tap shoes?”
When Natalie looked over her shoulder, she saw Ross there, a smile in his eyes and his eyebrows lifted in inquiry. She held up her hands, full of refreshment clutter and shrugged apologetically.
More than his eyes smiled then, and he took the piles from her and stacked them on the floor. “I’m pretty sure those will still be there after the song ends.”
He offered her his hand, and she, utterly dumbstruck, took it. She was unprepared for the jolt that ran up her arm.
The band was playing a slow ballad. The electric shock she’d felt when he’d taken her hand had been nothing compared to the lightning bolt that struck when his other hand slid around her waist. She laid her free hand on his shoulder and willed herself to stop shaking. She wasn’t sure if he had felt it too. She didn’t want to admit to feeling it herself—but she was sure he would sense her tremors if she didn’t get them under control.
They danced quietly for a minute, and then he said, “The tap lessons must be paying off, Mrs. Forrester. You’re very light on your feet.”
She was preoccupied with breathing evenly, and it took her a moment before she realized he was making light conversation. “Thank you,” she murmured, then added, “Please, call me Natalie.”
“Okay. Natalie.” He said it with finality, but he paused a moment. “Not Bob?” he asked.
He was teasing her, trying to get her to relax, she assumed, but his manner and close proximity were making her heart race. “The kids call me Bob. You’re not a kid, are you, Mr. McConnell?”
“It’s Ross. And do I look like a kid to you?” At that moment, he pulled her in against his body and spun her around in a couple of tight turns. Then he kept her there and slowed his pace. “Why do they call you Bob? You promised you’d tell me sometime.”
“I think I said ‘maybe.’”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it was a promise.” He gave her a wicked half smile.
Being so close to him felt warm and exciting and—surprisingly nice. And it was precisely those feelings that reminded her to stay on her guard. Her Bob story would provide a distraction, and she hoped it would give her time to get herself back on an even keel. “All right. It started when my son, Ryan, was a little boy.”
Ross stopped dancing. “You have a son as well?”
She’d forgotten he didn’t know about Ryan. “Yes. He’s on a mission right now.” She could see his mind at work, mentally assessing her and doing the age-related math.
“You barely look old enough to have a daughter Emma’s age,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Where is he serving?” Ross asked.
“Scotland. He’s been gone five months now.” She gave Ross a minute to absorb the revelation; it seemed to affect a lot of people this way when they learned about Ryan, so she should be used to it. She watched his face and could tell he made a conscious decision not to pry. It surprised and relieved her. She continued. “Anyway, when Ryan was a little boy, about seven, he caught a horrible cold. He was miserable. I can still see his sad little face: red, puffy eyes, goopy nose, and a cough that could blow the trade winds off course. Nothing seemed to help. I gave him medicine, but it didn’t ever work for very long. I would just get him to sleep and be helping the girls with something, and this hoarse little voice would croak, ‘Bob! Bob! I deed you.’” She smiled warmly at the memory. “After a few days, he started feeling better, but he still had that horrible stuffiness in his head. And he was so bored he was turning into a little tyrant. So I decided to talk to some of his friends’ moms and got a couple of them to allow their boys to come play for a while in the afternoon, despite the germs. We did a lot of hand washing that particular afternoon.”
“I can imagine.”
She continued. “Ryan would walk into the kitchen and say, ‘Bob, cad we have a dodut?’ ‘Bob, cad we play video gabes?’”
Ross chuckled, and he spun her around again.
Natalie smiled back at him. “The funny thing is, his friends started teasing him about it. They would come find me and say, ‘Bob, cad I have a dodut?’ too. Then my girls, who were quite little at the time—Callie was only a year—started to mimic him as well. Callie was just forming words, and she toddled around the house saying, ‘bob, bob, bob,’ at everything and everyone she saw. The boys thought it was hilarious, and it egged them on even more. By the end of the day, it had stuck. Now all my kids and their friends call me Bob.”
Ross smiled at her. It was a gentle, amused smile, and it awakened a part of Natalie’s heart she hadn’t been sure even still existed. The side of Ross she’d seen tonight was such a contrast to the hard man who had regarded her humorlessly during the tap-dance fiasco. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. Ross was only being polite, nothing more. The silly dark knight business she’d created on a whim was a childish fantasy as fictional as Princess Pumpkinseed was.
Ross interrupted her thoughts, murmurring, “What are you thinking?”
She made herself look up at him. She couldn’t tell him what she’d really been thinking, that he was handsome and compelling, that she was attracted to him against her wishes and her better judgment, and that she knew she was so far from his ideal woman that it was pointless. So she said, “It seems only yesterday that my children were that little. It goes by so quickly, and then one day you wake up and realize those sweet years are past. You wish for them back. At the very least, you hope you have spent them well, with no regrets.”
“Have you spent yours well?”
“In some ways, I hope. I have three wonderful kids who are fairly well adjusted, all things considered. But I definitely have regrets.” She didn’t regret, would never regret, having her wonderful son Ryan in her life. But she definitely regretted the choices she’d made that had resulted in her becoming a teenage mother and tying her, at least temporarily, to a resentful teenage husband. She also regretted allowing her desire to give Ryan a daddy to blind her to the red flags in Wade’s character.
“Everyone has regrets.”
“I don’t think so. Not everyone. Not the really big regrets.” She paused, thoughtful. “I suppose every choice leads down a certain path, and that path leads to lessons learned. I believe I’m a stronger person because of what I’ve learned. Would I have learned them if I’d made different choices? Possibly. Who can say? I have definitely learned I need to be philosophical about it though. When my regrets weigh on me, I try to balance those feelings by remembering what I have learned. It helps, sometimes.” She paused again, embarrassed that she had rambled. She hadn’t realized they had stopped dancing. Neither of them moved for several moments. She wondered if Ross had regrets; it was obvious he wasn’t going to volunteer any. He probably didn’t. A man like Ross McConnell, smart and confident, knew and plotted every step along his illustrious and successful course in life. “The music stopped.” She began to pull away. “I should get back to work. Thank you for the dance.”
Ross let her go. She could feel his eyes on her as she stooped to pick up the refreshment clutter. She was irritated at herself, and she felt depressed. She’d meant to move away from dangerous conversational territory when she’d talked about how fast time had gone by. Instead, she’d not only plunked herself smack-dab in the middle of a touchy subject, but she had also allowed things to get almost maudlin. And while she’d used brave words, touting lessons learned, she did have many regrets in her life, real, deep-seated regrets, and they plagued her daily. The first had been naively allowing Buck Jacobsen to charm her and take her innocence when she was barely seventeen. She understood now why she’d allowed it to happen and had taken full responsibility for her actions; that was part of the “lessons learned” mantra she told herself in difficult times. It had included a lot of soul searching and repenting. But that specific choice had also changed the course of her life and had led to other regrettable life choices. If someone had told her a decision made when she was so young and vulnerable would impact her for her entire lifetime, she wasn’t sure she would have believed them. She could preach the sermon eloquently now.
Natalie returned to the kitchen and found Emma and Tess busily boxing up leftovers. Callie was nearly asleep at the table, just as Lexie had been just a few minutes ago. Natalie shook off her melancholy and pitched in. She needed to get them all home and into bed. Wade had allowed his girls to miss a Saturday with him for the sake of earning a little spending money. But he was picking them up early Sunday morning for the day, and Natalie had also forfeited her Thanksgiving with the girls as part of his hard-driven bargain.
Yes, she thought, she definitely had regrets.