Authors: Mariah Stewart
The Long Way Home (40 page)
Ten
.
“The rest of what I have to say.” Ellie took a deep breath. “I am planning on staying in St. Dennis, making this my home. But I feel a little guilty about having made a promise to you. I mean, I gave you my word, to sell the house to you.”
Nine
.
“So I tried to come up with some way to ease my conscience. So while I can’t sell it to you, I am willing to share it with you.”
“Share it? Share the house?”
Eight
.
“Yes.” She nodded. “But then it occurred to me that you moving in … living with me … would not send a very good message to Gabi. She’s at an impressionable age.…”
Seven
.
“As much as I hate to say it, you’re right. You wouldn’t be much of a role model for her.”
“So I’m thinking if we’re going to live together, we should get married.”
Six
.
“Do you realize what you just said?”
“I do.” She laughed nervously. “Oh. I guess that’s a line for another time, right?
I do?
”
Five
.
“Ellie … you just proposed to me.” Cameron seemed stunned.
“I did, didn’t I? I know it’s a lot to take on, I mean, Gabi and I are a package deal now—and the house,
too, of course.” Ellie sighed. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Cam. I can’t imagine being with anyone but you, spending the rest of my life with anyone but you.”
Four
.
“I never expected to find a real home here, but I did. I never thought I’d find what I’d lost of my mother here, but I did.”
Three
.
“I never thought I’d find my heart, but …” She gestured, hands up. “But here you are. You’re the love of my life, Cam, pure and simple. So what do you say?”
Two
.
“What do you think?” He swept her up in his arms and kissed her mouth as the cheers were raised inside.
One
.
“Happy New Year!”
“The happiest year yet,” Cam whispered in her ear.
“The happiest year ever,” she agreed.
Diary
Oh, my, what a week we have had here in St. Dennis! First and most important, of course, was Lucy and Clay’s wedding. What a beautiful affair that was! I’ve seen Lucy’s work before, of course—the double wedding that we had here last year for Dallas and Grant, Steffie and Wade, and then Robert and Susanna Magellan’s wedding last summer—but oh, that anyone could pull off such a production in so short a time! The church had already been decorated by the ladies there, so other than adding some flowers to the end of the pews, there was nothing much for her to do. Which was a good thing, after all, because it gave her more time to focus on the reception here at the inn. In anticipation of the wedding—and her silver-and-pale-pink color scheme—we decorated the inn’s trees with a predominantly silver theme this year (Lucy’s idea, of course). Everything was sparkly and silvery and just so festive and beautiful—“ethereal,” my dear friend Trula called it
.
And it was. I can’t imagine a more beautiful wedding or a more beautiful bride … yes, I say that even though she is my daughter. She looked so … so grown up and sophisticated, so unlike my little Lucy and yet so perfectly her. I would have given anything for her father to have seen her. Oh, I know he was looking down from whatever cloud he
was assigned to, and he was probably as teary-eyed and proud as I was. But it would have been so much better if he’d been here, flesh and blood, to hold my hand and walk his girl down the aisle. Though I have to say, Daniel did us proud. If only Ford had been able to make it home. He did try, he said when he called, but the plane that was supposed to pick him up never arrived. Which, of course, has me worried about where that boy is and what he’s really doing
.
But back to the happy time … my daughter’s wedding. We’re so happy to welcome Clay to the family. He’s always been the one for her. We’ve always known it, even when she fought against it—moved clear across the country to keep it from happening, but there it is. Lucy and Clay are married, and all’s right in my world
.
Except for Ford … but hopefully, his dad is watching over him, too
.
And other big news! Ellie Ryder—Ellie Chapman, now that she’s come to terms with her family issues—and Cameron O’Connor will be the next to walk down the aisle! I have it on very good authority that the wedding will take place at the house on Bay View Road—Lilly’s house—this spring
.
Ellie’s hoping to have the entire first floor of the place painted and fixed up by then, though I don’t know when
she’ll have time to do much work there since she’s working full-time for Cameron now. I ran into her this morning at Cuppachino and she told me that Cam’s teaching her how to use all sorts of power tools. She said that next she wants him to teach her how to build tables like the one he made her for Christmas out of reclaimed oak boards from the Madisons’ old barn that came down last year. She said it’s the most beautiful table she ever saw—and that she’s never been happier. I’m betting that before long, the sign on the side of Cameron’s truck will read O’CONNOR AND O’CONNOR
.
I’m sure Lilly is dancing with delight, to have her boy—the boy she rescued—and her girl—the one who’d been kept from her for so long—together under her roof—and I’m sure she and Lynley are both proud as peacocks that Ellie took in Gabi and is being the big sister the girl needs. It was a tough situation to put Ellie in—only a fool as big as Clifford Chapman would ask his daughter to take in a child he fathered by his mistress—but Ellie has stepped up and seems to genuinely love Gabi
.
I’m betting Lilly has plenty to say about all that—as a matter of fact, I’m off to pull out the Ouija board right now!
Grace
For Chery Griffin.
She knows why—
A
LSO BY
M
ARIAH
S
TEWART
The Long Way Home
Home for the Summer
Hometown Girl
Almost Home
Home Again
Coming Home
Acts of Mercy
Cry Mercy
Mercy Street
Last Breath
Last Words
Last Look
Final Truth
Dark Truth
Hard Truth
Cold Truth
Dead End
Dead Even
Dead Certain
Dead Wrong
Forgotten
Until Dark
The President’s Daughter
Read on for a preview of book seven
from the Chesapeake Diaries series
AT THE RIVER’S EDGE
Available from Ballantine Books
S
OPHIE
Enright stared at the two flat tires on the driver’s side of her car and wondered if she’d ever had a worse day in her life.
It started when both the victim and the star witnesses for the assault case she was prosecuting failed to show up in court and were nowhere to be found. The judge had given her until four o’clock to produce them, and when she couldn’t, he dismissed the case.
It was never a good day when that happened. She opened the trunk of her car and peered inside. One spare, two flats. She slammed the lid, got into the car, and called her boyfriend, Christopher, listened while the phone rang, then went to voice mail.
“I’m in the parking garage with not one, but two flat tires. I lost my case this afternoon and endured a blistering tirade from Judge Palmer for failing to produce not only my witnesses, but my victim. I’m parked in my usual spot. Bring beer. Or wine. Wine would be equally good.”
She disconnected the call, then dialed for roadside assistance.
“I’ll need him to bring a spare,” she said after being told that they had someone on the road in her area.
“Not a problem,” the dispatcher assured her. “Hang tight right there and we’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
Sophie sighed and searched her bag for the paperback novel she’d started over the weekend. After twenty minutes, she tried Christopher again. Still no answer. Thirty more minutes passed, and she called the dispatcher again.
“He’s on his way,” she was promised. “He’ll be there any minute.”
“Any minute” turned out to be fifteen, but once help arrived, both spares—hers and the one the driver brought with him—were changed and she was free to go.
She glanced at her watch: seven twenty. Cursing softly under her breath, Sophie turned the key in the ignition and started out of the parking lot. She drove down to the second level, which was now empty except for a black BMW sedan off by itself on the other side of the garage.
A black BMW sedan that looked uncannily like Christopher’s.
She drove slowly around one concrete post, then another, and stopped in front of the car. How many black BMW sedans—complete with a UPenn sticker on the right rear bumper—could there be in the courthouse lot at this hour?
Christopher—also an assistant district attorney—must be working late. Sophie started to dial his number once again, then decided to surprise him in the office. She parked her car next to his and got out, slammed her car door, and had taken three steps in the direction of the stairwell when she heard voices coming from the BMW. Without thinking, she walked around her car and looked into the backseat.
“Oh, crap.” Christopher’s voice.
“What?” a woman asked. “What is it? Chris, where are you …?”
The back passenger-side door opened and Christopher—her
Christopher—emerged, his shirt unbuttoned, one hand zipping his pants and the other slamming the door to keep whoever was inside, inside.
“Sophie, I … I can explain …,” he stammered.
“No, actually, you can’t.” Sophie’s stomach knotted and her mind went blank. She got into her car and poked the key into the ignition with shaking hands.
“Sophie, wait … wait …” Christopher’s voice trailed behind her car as she pulled away.
“You asshole!” Tears rolling down her face, she yelled as loudly as she could, even though he couldn’t have heard. “You are a total and complete
asshole
.”
She slammed a hand on her steering wheel for emphasis. Her phone started to ring and she knew who it was without looking at the caller ID.
“I’m only answering because I want you to know what a dickweed I think you are.”
“Dickwad.” He sighed heavily as if exasperated.
“What?”
“I think the word you want is
dickwad
.”
Funny, but that professorial tone that she used to think made him sound intellectual suddenly seemed obnoxious.
“Whatever,” she snapped. “Don’t call me again. Ever.”
“Sophie—”
“Can it. You are not worth my time. We are so done.” She hung up.
She blew the red light at the corner and felt a momentary touch of relief when she realized there were no cars coming from the opposite direction and no police officers to flag her down. Since starting at the DA’s office three years ago, she’d been careful not to do anything that might cause her embarrassment when she had to face the cops in court. Getting stopped for running a red light would be one of those things … especially at that
moment, when she knew her mascara was running and her face was a blotchy mess from crying. Hardly the professional image she’d worked hard to create.