A Christmas Bride (12 page)

“Well,” said Faye, “it's a bold move, I'll give you that. But are you sure they fit? I mean, Willow and David have Shelly in common. They've been friends a long time. Do you think they could become, you know, lovers?”

“I don't know,” Poppy said, although she suspected that David and Willow had started to notice each other in that way.

“We need to throw them together and find out what happens. Maybe you could ask Willow to babysit Natalie. Maybe on bridge nights. That way David and Willow and Natalie would all be together. Alone.” Faye drew out the last word into something quite suggestive.

“That's not going to work. David watches Natalie on bridge nights. And if he's not available, I send her off to Charlotte's Grove for an overnight with her other grandmother.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe you could spring it on him or something. Like a surprise,” Viola said.

“No, wait, I have an idea. You're having that paint party on Saturday, aren't you?” Faye said.

Poppy nodded. “Yes, Willow and her mother organized it. God help us, I hate to think about all those amateurs dribbling paint all over my wood floors.” Poppy picked up her wine and took a healthy swig.

“Well, paint can always be cleaned up, Poppy,” Faye said. “But I'm thinking we need to make sure that David doesn't go off fishing on Saturday. Maybe you can tell him that you're worried about the mess or something and insist that he stay and oversee the madness. And then we can spend the entire day making sure that Willow and David spend time together.”

“That's a good idea,” Viola said. “We can reassess our plans after the painting party. Because if there aren't any sparks between them, then there aren't any sparks. We want Natalie to have a wonderful mother, but she has to be a mother her daddy loves and desires.”

Poppy glanced from Faye to Viola and back again. “I don't know about this,” she said. “It seems so, I don't know, dishonest or something.”

“Maybe,” Faye said, “but remember we're doing this in the name of love.”

T
he weather gods cooperated on the Saturday before Thanksgiving by providing a perfect, sixty-degree, Indian-summer day for the Eagle Hill Manor paint-in. Thirty-two volunteer painters—friends of the bride and groom, members of Mrs. M's bridge club and church group, and a few of Mom's protester friends—were expected.

Willow had stocked two dozen paint rollers, an equal number of trim brushes, and gallons of paint in fabulous colors: Flirt Alert red for the lobby, French Parsley green for the dining room, Smooth Silk ivory for the first-floor restrooms, and Cotton Blossom white for the front facade and all the inside trim.

Over the last two days, thanks in large measure to the members of Mrs. M's bridge club, the floors had been covered with plastic drop cloths, the walls had been prepped and spackled, and the worst of the peeling paint from the inn's grand portico had been scraped away. Walter Braden himself had promised to get up the tallest ladder and scrape and paint the dental trim around the portico's eaves.

Willow arrived at Eagle Hill Manor at oh dark thirty and let herself in using the key Poppy had given her two weeks ago, right after David hired her to manage Melissa's wedding and reception.

All was in quiet readiness as she headed toward the kitchen carrying two sacks filled with donuts and bagels. She wasn't at all surprised to find Mrs. M in the kitchen with Faye and Harlan Appleby. Natalie was there, too, looking sleepy in her pj's as she ate a bowl of cereal, her hair a big red tangle. One glance at the little girl put a smile on Willow's lips. She was adorable. Shelly would be so proud of her.

The inn's giant coffee urns were already hot, and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the air. “Bless you,” Willow said as she dropped the grocery sacks on the stainless-steel countertop. “I could use a cup of that. What can I do to help before the volunteers arrive? I figure we've got about half an hour.”

Poppy filled two large, polystyrene coffee cups and pressed them into Willow's hands. “First things first. Would you do me a favor and take this out to David? He's out on the patio being his usual grumpy morning self. Faye and I will take care of putting out the donuts and bagels. We're also making iced tea, and Walter should be here with the ice and the keg of beer shortly.”

“David's here?” Willow asked.

“Where else would he be?”

“Uh, well, I just thought he'd be off fishing or working or something.”

“Well, he's not. He told me this morning he wanted to keep an eye on things.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask him.”

Willow stood there for a moment trying to figure out a way to avoid this chore. She'd been successful in avoiding David for the last week even if she had failed to rein in her red aura or forget the looks he'd given her last Sunday when they'd gone fishing together.

“Go on, he's waiting,” Mrs. M said, a note of annoyance in her voice.

Willow straightened her shoulders and strode off toward the French doors to the library. She'd deliver the coffee and make a quick retreat back to the kitchen. Easy-peasy, no need to spend any more time with him than was absolutely necessary.

She found him exactly where Mrs. M said he would be, on the terrace, sitting in one of the wrought-iron lounge chairs watching the sun rise. It was chilly out there, but he'd fired up a couple of the professional-grade propane heaters. As usual, he was dressed for the country club, not a paint-in, in a pair of crisply pressed khakis, a blue Ralph Lauren cable-knit sweater, and expensive-looking leather loafers.

She pushed through the French doors. “Good morning,” she said in a falsely bright voice as she crossed the patio. “Mrs. M said you needed coffee. I'm the designated coffee bearer.” She held out the cup.

He looked up at her, his dark eyes filled with a spark she didn't want to see. The damn propane heaters must have been turned up to blast furnace level. Either that or just looking at his handsome face gave her hot flashes.

He took the coffee from her, their fingers inadvertently touching, while her core melted down. Damn. She needed to find someplace else to be in a hurry. “So, you're good? I have things I need to do,” she said as she pointed over her shoulder with her thumb.

“You have a minute?” he asked.

Crap. Would it be bad if she said no? “Sure.” She remained standing.

“Poppy insisted that I hang around today,” he said. “She seems to be worried.”

“Worried? About what? Mrs. M gave me the impression you were the one who was worried.”

“Me? I'm not worried about anything except the size of my credit-card bill after you feed everyone breakfast and lunch.”

The man was frugal to a fault. “Feeding people breakfast and lunch will be cheaper than hiring professional painters. So don't get all Scroogy on me, okay?”

He cocked his head and gave her a sideways glance. “I think that's precisely Poppy's problem.”

“What? That you're being cheap like Scrooge, or that I'm feeding everyone who volunteers?”

He gestured toward a chair, clearly annoyed by her snark. “Have a seat, Willow. It might be the only time you get to sit down all day.”

“No, I really have things—”

“Sit down,” he commanded.

She sat and took a sip of her coffee, scalding her tongue in the process.

“I think Poppy is worried that your volunteers are going to ruin the inn with their shoddy work.”

How dare he? First of all, she was willing to bet her life that Mrs. M wasn't at all concerned about shoddy work. She'd admired the efforts of Harlan and Walter over the last couple of days. They would be there watching, making sure the volunteers didn't do any damage, and Mrs. M knew it.

“Well, I guess we'll just have to trust in people, won't we? Especially since beggars can't be choosers.” Her annoyance came through loud and clear in her tone.

“Whoa, back off,” he said. “This isn't coming from me. I'm just saying that Poppy is worried. And I guess all of this is just a little upsetting for her, you know? I mean, she's lived in this house for decades.”

“Yes, I know that. I'm very sensitive to the situation. Are you?”

He gave her the patented Lyndon frown. “Of course I am. I hope you will be too.”

Had she somehow hurt Mrs. M's feelings? She only wished she knew what she'd done. As far as Willow could tell, she and Mrs. M were getting along just fine. She looked down at her coffee cup, suddenly worried that her enthusiasm for the inn had turned Mrs. M off or something. Maybe she'd been just a little too gung ho. Damn.

“I'm sorry, David. But I can assure you that I have been very sensitive to her situation.” Willow stood. “I'll go talk to her now.”

“No. Sit down. Don't talk to her. Just be…” His voice faded out.

“What?”

He shrugged. “I don't know.” He took a big gulp of coffee. “I'm terrible at stuff like this.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment before he spoke again. “I like your sweatshirt,” he said. It was a complete non sequitur.

“It's more than twenty years old. Perfect for painting.”

“I have one just like it that I used to wear all the time. You know, it's funny, I never thought about this before, but we kind of missed each other at the University of Virginia. You did your undergrad there and I did law school, but we were never there at the same time, were we? We were like ships passing in the night.”

He tried to smile. It reached his eyes but not really his lips. What was he trying to say? She didn't get it. But she was quite certain that if they'd been together at college they would have been friends. Period. Shelly and David were an established couple by the time he went off to Harvard undergrad. And Willow was focused on her future, not romance.

She ought to be focused on her future right now.

So she leaned forward. “You know, David, if you have an old UVA sweatshirt, you might want to put it on. Because that Ralph Lauren sweater and the Italian loafers aren't exactly what I'd call painting attire.”

He glanced down at his clothing. “I wasn't planning on painting.”

“That's obvious. You just planned to sit out here and criticize the rest of us, right?”

“Look, I was planning to go fishing, but Poppy asked me to stay and keep an eye on things, okay?”

“Fine, you do that.” She stood up and put her hands on her hips. “But here's the thing, David—thirty people, give or take, are about to arrive here to help paint the inn in time for Melissa and Jeff's wedding. No one is paying these volunteers. No one is coercing them. They're showing up because they care about their friends, and some of them might even care about you and Mrs. M and this place that used to mean so much to your wife. And not just to your wife, to the entire town of Shenandoah Falls.

“People used to come up here every Christmas to see the decorations and have holiday tea. They want to keep that tradition alive. So that's why these people are coming—to help friends and to recapture something that's important to them. If you want to keep an eye on things and be helpful and positive, then I suggest you stop sitting there judging people and go change your clothes and be ready to wield a paintbrush.”

David sat in the chair after Willow left, sipping his coffee and watching the sun creep up over the barren branches of the big oak tree on the east lawn.

He'd deserved the tongue-lashing Willow had just given him. He'd behaved like a total freaking jerk. Probably because he was inappropriately attracted to her, and she knew it.

And that explained why she'd been avoiding him these last few days.

It was enough to drive a man insane. And make him completely inarticulate.

There were several things he wanted to say to Willow Petersen, and none of them had anything to do with Poppy or the paint party. He wanted to thank Willow for her suggestions with respect to Mrs. Welch. And he wanted to express his gratitude for the attention she'd been giving to Natalie. Not to mention the fact that she was managing Melissa and Jeff like she was a professional wedding planner.

Yeah, he was a jerk. A grumpy, Scrooge of a jerk. Maybe he needed a few ghosts to give him a visit. Or maybe the spirit of Christmas present had just visited him and told him exactly what he needed to do.

He drained his cup and headed back to the caretaker's cottage behind the inn, where he dug through his closet and found his UVA sweatshirt. Like Willow's, it had a little tear in the seam around the neck, which made it perfect for painting.

By the time he got back to the big house, the volunteers were arriving. He hung back, watching as Willow and her mother took charge. Harlan Appleby, Dusty McNeil, and Walter Braden were the designated crew chiefs, and each of them took a group of volunteers. They all seemed to know what they were doing.

“Hey, Daddy, are you going to paint?” Natalie came flying out of the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans that were short in the legs and an old Washington Nationals T-shirt.

“I guess I am,” he said.

“Oh, goody, you can paint with me. Miss Willow told me to volunteer with Mr. Appleby.” She took him by the hand and dragged him off to the dining room. “We're here,” Natalie announced in her playground voice.

Harlan looked at his latest recruits. “Do either of you have any experience?” he asked.

“Nope.” Natalie shook her head, her ponytail dancing.

“You?” Harlan asked, giving David a hard, assessing glance.

David's face heated. “Uh, well, no, actually.”

Harlan's mouth twitched. “Not surprised, but don't worry. I think you can master what's required.” He handed David a full-size roller with a long handle, while Natalie got a pint-size trim roller. He pointed to a wall without windows. “You guys can start on that wall.”

Painting turned out to be pretty easy, although Natalie was soon covered from head to toe in green paint, but she was having a wonderful time. Melissa and the bridesmaids were working in the dining room, too, and they soon stole her away from David. She was their little mascot, and she spent the morning giggling—a sound he hadn't heard in a long, long time.

Painting, he was discovering, was sort of like fly-fishing. He soon got into a Zen-like rhythm that would have carried him right into the afternoon if Poppy hadn't interrupted him about two hours later.

“Oh, David, there you are. I've been looking all over for you.” She frowned, taking in his sweatshirt and jeans. “I didn't expect to find you painting.”

“I was just making sure that you didn't have any worries.”

“Worries? About what?”

“Poppy, didn't you tell me last night that you were worried about the quality of the work we were going to get today?”

“Oh, yes, I completely forgot about that. I guess I was wrong to worry. Walter and Harlan have been wonderful about quality control.” Her face colored in a blush.

What the heck was going on with her? Was she going senile or something?

“Well, anyway, can you take a break? I need your help with the pizzas.”

“What about the pizzas?”

“Someone has to pick them up, and there are so many. Willow is going, and I think she needs help. Plus, your SUV is bigger.”

“How many pizzas are we buying exactly that we need an SUV?”

“Don't be cheap, David. You know it used to annoy Shelly. We're buying a sufficient number to feed thirty-five people.”

“I guess that's a lot of them, huh?” He tried to smile. “Sure, I can help Willow.” Maybe that would give him a chance to apologize for the idiot things he'd said this morning.

He dropped his roller in the pan and followed Poppy out onto the portico, where Dusty McNeil and Walter Braden were up on tall ladders priming the eaves.