Lambert's Peace (2 page)

“Oh, modest.” Mia looked at Elle. “Don't you just love a strong, modest man?”

“Yes, I do.”

When Mia turned her attention to her appetizer plate, Elle cut a glance at Will and mouthed, “I'm sorry.”

Will shook his head as if to say, “It's okay.”

During dinner Mia continued to dominate the conversation with grand tales of her trips to Europe and the Orient—and not once, but twice more called Elle “bourgeois.”

Will couldn't wait for the evening to end.

Around seven, they ordered coffee and dessert. Elle stood and said, “If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the ladies' room.”

“I'll go, too.” Mia picked up her purse, smoothing her hand along Will's shoulder as she went past, as if they were an intimate couple.

As soon as the women were out of earshot, Will draped his arm over the back of his chair and regarded Bobby. “Bourgeois? She called your elegant, socially astute wife
bourgeois
.“

Bobby laughed. “I guess she is a little bit of a fruitcake.”

“Cotton candy,” Will said, his jaw set.

“Cotton candy?” Bobby crinkled his brow.

“Whipped sugar on a stick. All fluff and no substance. An evening with Mia is like consuming
verbal
cotton candy.” Will made an
ick
face.

Bobby grinned. “She is beautiful, though. And well traveled.”

Will reached for his water. “Look, she's a lovely lady. I don't want to be rude, but she's not for me.”

“Maybe she's nervous, Will. Do the Giuseppe's thing, or take her to Sam's Diner. Just the two of you.”

“No.” Will shook his head and leaned to the side as the waiter placed cheesecake in front of him. “I can tell you now she's not for me. I don't want to waste her time or mine.”

Bobby challenged, “You're that sure after one dinner.”

“Yes.”

Bobby reached for his coffee. “It's your life. I hope you like being a bachelor.”

“Bob, I don't want to date just because I'm single.”

His brother's perplexed expression made Will laugh.

“Look, I am at peace about being single. I'm content. I'll date when I meet the right one.”

Bobby nodded, slicing off a corner of his dessert. “Fine, but I don't think one date is enough. Look at how many people start out hating each other and end up happily married.”

“Trust me on this one, I—” A subtle motion across the room caught Will in midsentence. He dropped his linen napkin on the table and stood slowly. Across the room, the Italian Hills' maître d' escorted Grant and Trixie Hanson to a table nearby, and …

He couldn't believe it.

“I'm sorry I got you into this,” Bobby said.

“Taylor,” he said, his gaze following the lithe, exquisite brunette.

The maître d' held Taylor's chair as she slid up to the table. “You really didn't have to do this,” she said to her parents.

“It's nothing, kiddo. We've been planning to come here for several weeks now.” Grant unrolled his silverware from his napkin.

Taylor smiled. “This would be nicer for you and Mom if you didn't have your daughter tagging along.” She tapped her chest for emphasis.

“Nonsense,” her mother said.

As she reached for her menu, Taylor surveyed the room, the chandelier-and-crystal atmosphere familiar to her. The last time she was here? She thought for a moment. Bobby and Elle's wedding reception. The night she and Will went wading …

Taylor shook away the image.
Too long ago to matter now
.

But it was the devastation of that night that made her flee White Birch for New York. In some ways she owed her career to heartbreak and Will Adams.

Her shoulders slumped. Her career. What career? She'd ended that two days ago. No thanks to Lisa Downey. She grabbed her water goblet and took a long drink.

Dad ordered a spinach and artichoke dip with focaccia bread, then turned to Taylor. “What's the plan?”

She put down her menu. “Excuse me?” Was it the lighting, or were her dad's cheeks pale?

“What's the plan? New job? Stay here in White Birch?”

Taylor laughed, reaching for her freshly poured iced tea. “Stay in White Birch? And do what?”

“Get married, give your mom and me more grandkids. Tim's children are practically grown.”

“We're ten years apart, Dad.” Taylor laughed.

Dad continued, “Claire's eighteen and already graduated. Jarred is sixteen and waiting tables at Sam's, and Quentin is fourteen going on thirty.”

Taylor nodded. “He is a little precocious.”

“He's very intelligent,” Mom added in her best grandma voice.

“Much like you, Taylor. Another whiz kid in the making.”

Taylor stared past her father, twisting her napkin with her fingers. “I don't feel like much of a whiz kid.”

“Doesn't matter what you feel; it's what you know to be true.”

Taylor focused her gaze on her father and smiled. He looked so frail. “Thank you, Dad. And yes,” she said as she squared her shoulders, “I'm getting a new job. A better job.”

“Taylor, don't you want to marry and have children? You're thirty-three.”

“I'm aware of my age, Mom, but I can't leave my career and reputation flapping in the October breeze. I have to reestablish myself or my career is over.”

“Seems you've been all about your career for the last decade. Time for real life.”

“She'll get there, Trixie. She'll get there. But she's right. She's worked hard. You don't become a principal CPA overnight. Quitting Blankenship and Burns shouldn't be the last line on her résumé.”

The waiter brought the bread and sauce appetizer. Grant said a prayer, and Taylor mused over his wisdom. He'd never lived anywhere but White Birch; he'd never worked anywhere but Lambert's Furniture. Sixty-six years in one town, fifty years with one company.

Her parents amazed her.

The waiter came for their dinner order. Taylor ordered the baked ziti with a side salad. Her father ordered lasagna, and her mom ordered the chicken Alfredo.

“I'm splurging tonight.” Mom smiled as she folded her menu.

Taylor smiled. “Good for you—” A sudden clatter interrupted Taylor. She looked across the table to see Dad mopping up his spilled water.

“Dad, are you okay?” Taylor picked up her napkin to help clean the mess, noticing again the pallor of his face.

“I'm all right. Just a little weak from hunger, I guess,” Grant said.

“He's fine.” Trixie gently pressed the back of her hand against his cheek. “He's fine. Just needs a good meal.”

Taylor studied her father for a moment. He didn't look fine, and his wan complexion didn't come from hunger. “Dad, have you been to the doctor?”

“Not yet, no.” He kept his gaze on the menu.

Taylor turned to her mom. “Get him to a doctor.”

“He's fine, Taylor. He's fine.”

“Dad, has this happened before?”

Grant held up his hand. “Taylor, I'll make an appointment.”

“Okay.”

Will paid the check, and while Bobby helped the ladies with their coats, he whispered to his brother, “I'm going to say hello to Taylor.”

Bobby shifted his gaze to the Hansons' table. “Don't make a big deal. You may not want to marry Mia, but she's your date for tonight.”

Will held out his hands. “I'm going to say hello to an old friend.”

“Then we'll come with you. Elle, Mia, let's go over and say hello to the Hansons.”

“Who?” Mia asked, louder than Will thought necessary.

“Some friends of ours,” Elle said, smiling, buttoning her top coat button. “Taylor was my maid of honor.”

The small blond smiled. “Really.” She slipped her arm possessively around Will's.

He winced. If he moved his arm, it would be rude to Mia. But the last thing he wanted clinging to him when he greeted Taylor for the first time in ten years was another woman.

“Good evening, Grant, Trixie,” Bobby said, shaking Grant's hand as the man stood. “Hello, Taylor.”

“Elle! Bobby. Hello.” Taylor rose from her chair.

Will stood back, watching. Her movements were sublime and controlled. He saw a confidence in her words and manner that must have come from living and working in New York.

“Where's her husband?” Mia asked, squeezing his arm.

Will looked down at her. “She's not married.”

“Oh,” Mia said sharply.

“You have to come over and see our youngest, Max. He's four already,” Elle said to Taylor.

“Already? And I've never met him.”

Will noticed her fingers tapping against the tabletop.

“Taylor's at the house; give her a call, Elle,” Grant said, waving his cheese-covered bread in the air.

“Dad, please.” Taylor faked a chuckle. “They don't want to know all about me.”

Will recognized the look on her face. Apparently, New York hadn't removed all of her anxieties.

“Of course we do, Taylor. You've got to come over before going back to New York. Please.”

“Well, all right.” Taylor pressed her hand against the back of her neck, then glanced around at Will.

He waved and moved away from Mia's grip toward Taylor. “Good to see you.”

“You're looking well,” Taylor said, giving him a slight hug. The clean, subtle scent of her perfume lingered around him. Their eyes met for one brief moment.

“You look amazing,” he said.

“Ahem.” The blond dynamo sidled up next to Will.

He stepped aside. “Taylor Hanson, I'd like you to meet Mia Wilmington.”

“Nice to meet you.” Taylor offered her hand.

“Likewise.” Mia slipped her arm through Will's.

Will smiled to cover his uneasiness. “Mia teaches at the high school.”

Taylor grinned, revealing perfect, white teeth. Will thought she was beautiful. “Very nice.” She shifted her gaze toward him.

He knew that look, too. Her “Adams, what are you doing?” look.

Grant brought up the topic of Lambert's Furniture, which took Will and Bobby off in conversation. Elle and Trixie were engaged in a discussion about the last ladies' Bible study, and Mia studied Taylor, arms folded.

Will kept one ear in the conversation with Grant, one listening to Mia and Taylor.

“What do you do?” Mia asked, her voice too sweet.

“I'm a principal CPA,” Taylor said with control and grace.

When the waiter appeared with their salads, Will said, “Bobby, we'd better go.” He smiled at Taylor. “Good to see you.”

She tipped her head. “You, too. Nice to meet you, Mia.”

Elle reached for a final hug. “It's been too long.”

“I know,” Taylor said.

Will was the last one through the door. Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes met hers as she watched him leave.

Late Wednesday afternoon Taylor zipped her overnight bag shut and set it by the bedroom door. She slid a few extra résumés inside her leather portfolio. Tomorrow afternoon she would fly to Charlotte, North Carolina, for her first post–Blankenship & Burns interview.

It had been a week since she left the prestigious New York firm and the life she had built in New York. Mechanically, Taylor moved through the days, one goal in mind: Find a new job.

When Conrad & Associates called Monday morning, her hopes soared.

It had been a long time since she'd interviewed, so as Taylor changed from jeans to running sweats, she mentally rehearsed answers to possible questions.

Conrad: Where do you see yourself in five years?

Taylor: Contributing to the overall vision and goal of Conrad and Associates. Moving toward becoming a partner
.

Conrad: What are your greatest strengths?

Taylor: Vision, determination, decisiveness, and ability to focus. Follow-through
.

Conrad: Weaknesses?