16
T
he
panic and note of defeat Trace had heard in Abby's voice the night before were
almost his undoing. If she hadn't been getting on a plane first thing this
morning to return to Chesapeake Shores, he would have flown straight to New
York last night, if only to hold and comfort her.
Instead, he'd spent the night doing something far more constructive. He'd been
digging around in Wes Winters's finances. From what he could discern, they were
in a bit of a mess, which might explain why he was so eager to have the girls
with him. Not only would he not have to continue paying child support, there
was a very good chance a court might rule that Abby should pay
him
for
their care.
The rotten bastard! Trace thought, as the picture became clearer. This wasn't
about a father's great love for his two daughters. It was all about money. He'd
bet everything he owned on that.
Once he'd finished with his credit check, he'd put Wes's name into the search
engine to see what else might turn up. That led him to several photos on the
New York and Long Island society pages linking Wes with Gabrielle Mitchell, a
woman who apparently worked at the same firm as Abby. Trace wondered when and
how that had come about, and right under Abby's nose, at that. Yet another
despicable action on Wes's part, as far as Trace could tell.
When he did yet another search of Gabrielle's name, he found an interesting
item buried in the financial pages of the
Wall Street Journal.
Apparently Wes's new paramour had been questioned recently in connection with
some dubious transactions at the brokerage firm. The report was dated just last
week, while Abby had been in Maryland, so she wouldn't necessarily have heard
any office gossip about the situation. Details were sketchy, according to the
brief item, but Gabrielle was among the six people regulators had called in.
Wasn't that interesting? Trace thought. Could it be that Ms. Mitchell had taken
a walk on the wild side with investor money? Was it possible that Wes was
scrambling for cash to bail her out? Or had
she
engaged in something
shady to bail
him
out? Hard to say, but something was definitely fishy
here. Trace didn't believe in coincidences.
The minute he thought Abby and the girls would be on the ground in Baltimore,
he called her cell phone. It was still set to go to voice mail, so he left a
message asking her to call him as soon as she got home or to come by the bank.
He could do more digging, but he had a feeling Abby could fill in some of the
missing pieces herself. She certainly knew all the players or could make calls
to people at her firm who might have answers that the press hadn't reported.
He finally made it to the bank at midmorning, earning a disapproving scowl from
Mariah on his way to his office.
"I know," he said to mollify her. "I should have called."
"Yes, you should have," she said. "I'll let your father know
you've deigned to grace us with your presence. He's been looking for you."
A few minutes later, he was pacing impatiently as he awaited Abby's call when
his father strode in looking grim.
"You missed a loan-committee meeting this morning," his father said.
"Actually I didn't," Trace replied. "I sent Laila in my place.
She was there, wasn't she?"
His father frowned. "Yes, but you can't sneak around behind my back like
this, Trace. Having Laila do your job is not going to convince me to give it to
her."
"Did she give the reports?"
"Of course she did."
"Were they acceptable?"
"Actually she has a very astute eye," he admitted grudgingly.
"Her analyses made a lot of sense."
Trace leveled a look into his father's eyes, which were still blazing with
indignation. "Then I don't see the problem. She was on time. She was
astute. What more could you ask?"
"That the man I'm paying to do this job be the one actually doing
it," he retorted heatedly.
"Actually you haven't been paying me. I haven't cashed any of those checks
Raymond's been leaving on my desk. Don't you pay attention to that sort of
thing?"
His father's jaw went slack, but before he could speak, Trace added,
"Wait, that's not entirely accurate. I am endorsing this week's check over
to Laila, since she did the work."
His father dropped down into a chair in front of Trace's desk. "You're
paying your sister to do your job?"
"Yes. I'm her front man, since you seem to be more comfortable having a
male in this office. Eventually, when you come around, I'll vacate the
premises."
"When did the two of you cook up this insane scheme?"
"Actually
we
didn't," Trace told him. "I did. Laila
doesn't know what my intentions are. I just asked her to help me out of a jam
this week. Told her I was on a tight deadline with a design and begged her to
pitch in."
"And you made this plea when?"
"Yesterday, as a matter of fact. Very last-minute."
Despite his bewilderment and annoyance, Lawrence Riley looked impressed.
"She did all that work overnight?"
"Pretty much," Trace said. "She's good, isn't she?"
Rather than answering directly, his father grumbled, "That was never the
issue. Of course she's good. Rileys understand numbers."
"Laila certainly does," Trace agreed pointedly.
His father sighed heavily. "You really hate the job that much?"
"I don't hate it," Trace said. "I just have another career I
love." He met his father's gaze. "But I've promised you a six-month
trial and I'll give it to you."
His father's brows climbed. "Don't you mean your sister will, hiding
behind your coattails?"
Trace grinned. "If I can pull it off without her figuring out what I'm up
to, yes."
His father continued to look unconvinced. "How about this instead? I'll
offer her the same position, keep you both on staff for the next few months and
we'll see how it goes. She'll have her chance to prove herself."
"No way." Trace shook his head at the absurdity of the suggestion.
"Dad, you can't hedge your bets with Laila. It's insulting. Either give
her your full support now or resign yourself to the fact that neither one of us
will take over the bank."
"When did you get to be so manipulative and sneaky?"
Trace laughed. "Some say I'm a chip off the old block."
His father smiled for the first time since entering the room. "You could
be at that. Okay, I'll give this some more thought. Laila did do a damn fine
job this morning, especially on short notice. Even Raymond was impressed, and
he doesn't think anyone in this building is as capable as he is, me included.
He's probably right about that, too."
His father rose to leave, then gave him a hard look. "You got something
else on your mind?"
"I'm just worried about Abby. It seems her ex-husband may be about to make
her life difficult."
"Anything I can do?"
Trace thought of the financial tangle that might be behind everything that was
happening. Abby most likely had the expertise to make sense of it, but another
sharp mind might not hurt. "There may be," he said. "I'll let
you know after I've spoken to Abby."
He just wished she'd hurry up and get in touch. Sitting around and waiting was
starting to get on his nerves.
*
* *
Abby listened to Trace's message right after she and the
girls got into the rental car at the Baltimore airport. As anxious as she was
to speak to him, she decided to wait until she got to Chesapeake Shores so she
could see him in person. Besides, she didn't want the twins to overhear her
talking about their father.
In addition, if she was being totally honest, she wanted more than the sound of
Trace's voice. She needed his arms around her. She had no idea when she'd
started to feel so strongly that he was important to her again, but there it
was. She couldn't deny it. He was the first one she'd thought of when this
crisis had come to a head in New York last night. Not Mick or Gram or anyone
else in her family. Just Trace. As she turned into the driveway at home, all
she could think about was getting the girls settled and heading straight into
town to find him.
No sooner had she pulled to a stop than she saw Gram emerge from the house with
the portable phone in hand. She beckoned to Abby. "It's your father,"
she called out.
Abby cut across the lawn, her gaze on the girls to make sure they weren't
heading straight for the beach. Instead, they bolted for Gram.
"Are you surprised to see us? Did you know we were coming?" Carrie
asked, bouncing up and down with excitement.
Gram chuckled. "I did indeed."
"Did you bake cookies?" Caitlyn asked.
"Do you even have to ask?" Gram replied, leading them inside and
winking at Abby.
When they were gone, Abby spoke to her father. "Hi, Dad."
"Your grandmother said you had something to say to me," he said,
sounding distant and irritated.
"I wanted to talk to you about Mom," she said, trying to feel her way
through the minefield. She didn't want to make him any angrier. She just wanted
him home.
"I'm not discussing your mother with you," he said flatly. "If
that's all, I need to be going."
"Don't you dare hang up on me," she said, her determination to remain
cool and calm snapping. "Mom is going to be here for the opening of the
inn. You need to be here, too. This is about Jess, not the two of you. It was
one thing for you to take off every time she came to visit when we were kids,
but this is different. It's about our family. You're both our parents and, for
better or worse, that makes you part of our lives. I'm sure you can deal with
each other for a couple of days. You managed to be civil at my wedding. This
opening is as important to Jess as that day was to me."
"Your wedding was one thing. She stayed at the inn for that. We managed to
steer clear of each other. Now, though, you're telling me I'm supposed to
welcome the woman who walked out on me back under my roof?" he demanded
incredulously. "Hell will freeze over first."
"She'll stay at the inn again," Abby said to pacify him. "Any
other issues?"
"I don't want her anywhere near my town," he grumbled. "I built
the place."
Abby nearly laughed at his possessive tone. "Even Chesapeake Shores, small
as it is, is big enough for both of you. No, Dad, you don't want her near you.
You're afraid if you see her, you might have a conversation, and who knows
where that might lead. You're behaving like a coward, Dad, and that's the last
thing I ever expected of you."
"You have a lot of nerve calling me that, young lady."
"Just calling it like I see it." She thought of the one surefire way
to get him home without further arguments. "There's something else you
should know, another reason you need to be here."
"Oh?" he said suspiciously.
"Caitlyn let something slip last night before we left New York. It seems
Wes may be thinking of asking the court for full custody of the girls."
Mick sucked in an audible breath. "Over my dead body! What the hell is he
thinking?"
"I've already spoken to Stella this morning. This could amount to nothing,
but she's ready to fight him in court if he actually tries anything. Trace is
digging into Wes's credit history to see if there's anything going on there
that would explain this sudden desire to be a full-time father. But, Dad, I
need you here in case anything comes of this. We're going to have to present a
united front."
"Don't worry, I'll be there," he said grimly. "I'll take that
man apart limb by limb myself if need be."
Abby knew he meant it, too. "Hopefully it won't come to that."
"You need me there now?"
"No, I think Trace and I can handle it on this end, and Stella's on the
scene in New York. Maybe Caitlyn got it all wrong, anyway," she said, not
mentioning that Carrie had in essence backed her up. "I'm just trying to
be prepared."
"Those girls of yours are too smart to make a mistake about something like
this," he said, confirming her own opinion. "Either he told them what
he planned or someone else did."
He paused, then added, "I'll be back at the end of next week, just in case
you need me. If anything comes up and you want me there sooner, call, okay?
This takes precedence over anything going on between your mother and me,"
he said, then continued wryly, "Which, of course, you knew it would before
you told me."
"Maybe," she said, smiling. "Thanks, Dad. I'll be in touch if I
need you here sooner than next week."
"You sure Trace can do the kind of investigating you need? I can hire
somebody in New York."
"I'll let you know if we need that," she assured him. "Just
knowing you'll be here soon is all I need for right now."
She was pleased by this evidence that he considered Carrie and Caitlyn his top
priority. She thought back to all those years when work would have taken
precedence, no matter the crisis at home, including the disintegration of his
own marriage. If she could see that he was changing, perhaps her mother would
finally start to believe it, too.
*
* *
Jess had taken off first thing on Tuesday morning to shop
for rugs. Abby had said flatly that they couldn't afford to put down new
carpeting, but that wasn't the same as saying they couldn't add a few rugs here
and there to brighten things up. She'd seen an ad in the weekend paper and
started envisioning how beautiful a brightly woven rug would look under the
table in the foyer. There were half a dozen other places where new rugs would
add a touch of color to the otherwise boring carpeting. Shampooing had made a
difference, but nothing could enliven the dull beige color. If there'd been
time, she would even have ripped it all up and refinished the wood floors she'd
discovered underneath.
She spent the whole morning trying to choose the perfect accents for each of
the rooms, then scheduled the delivery for the end of the week. When she
realized the time, she raced back to Chesapeake Shores, hoping to be back at
the inn before Abby returned from her trip.
Only as she was making the turn into town did Jess recall that this morning was
when the range had been scheduled for delivery. She hit the steering wheel in
frustration. What was wrong with her? She'd done everything to make sure the
stove would be in place before Abby's return, and now she'd blown it. How had
she let herself forget about it? It was because she'd started thinking about
those rugs, and everything else had been pushed to the back of her mind.
Parking behind the inn, she prayed that she wasn't too late. Maybe the delivery
had been delayed.
"Please, please, let them be running late," she murmured as she
crossed the lawn. But even before she reached the porch she could see the
yellow delivery attempt notice hanging from the knob. She cursed herself every
which way for not checking her calendar before she left, then realized she'd
never even made a note of the delivery on her calendar. The date had been on
one of the slips of paper she'd passed along to Gail with all of their menu
ideas. After that, it obviously had slipped her mind completely, just like so
many other vital things over the years.
Because of her ADD, she'd learned a whole slew of techniques for staying on
task, and they'd served her well, for the most part. But stressed and
overwhelmed as she'd been lately, she obviously hadn't employed them as she
should have.
She tried not to get down on herself, but when things like this happened, it
filled her with self-derision. She really was a screwup. What had ever made her
think she could successfully operate something as complex as an inn?
Jess sank down on the porch step and stared out toward the bay. It wasn't just
the stupid delivery. She could reschedule that. It was facing the fact—yet
again—that she was in over her head. At moments like this she was swamped with
remorse for even trying to handle a project this big. She should have stuck to
working at Ethel's Emporium, even if she had been bored to tears. At least
there, she wouldn't have had a fortune of her money and Abby's on the line.
Then she glanced around at all the changes she'd made to the inn. Even though a
lot of the work had been done inside, there was evidence of her efforts out
here, too. The place looked rejuvenated. She'd done work she could be proud of.
Even Mick had said that, and he wasn't one to hand out idle compliments.
"Come on, get over yourself," she muttered under her breath.
"This is going to be good. It's been your dream forever, and nobody's
going to take it away. Not Trace and the bank. Not Abby. And you're certainly
not giving up."
The pep talk was enough to get her on her feet. Inside, she called and
rescheduled the delivery of the stove, then went on the computer to check for
reservations. There were four new ones. See, she told herself. The inn was
going to be a huge success. She simply had to stop taking every slip as an omen
that bad things lay ahead. For once in her life, she was going to grab her
dream and hold on for dear life.