Ugly Ducklings Finish First (7 page)

“Really?” At a loss, Payton tried not to gape. She needed an abacus to tally up how many times Deborah had refused to even think about becoming a part of Bitterthorn’s community. “Where do you work?”

“Busy Fingers Craft Store.” When Payton stared at her, Deborah laughed. “I know, I know. The name leaves a lot to be desired. But I like it.”

“Well, then. That’s...amazing.” There was really no other word for it. “Would you like a lift into town?”

“Yes, I’d like that.” Before Payton could make a move, her mother touched her cheek. “It’s good to see you, Payton.”

“You too. We’d better go,” she mumbled and stepped back before she could stop herself. When had her mother last touched her? Something fractured deep inside when Payton discovered she couldn’t remember.

The drive into Bitterthorn was one Payton wouldn’t soon forget, fraught with endless silences interrupted by graceless spates of polite small talk. The tension eased only when the town’s live-oak-shaded square appeared, with its whitewashed bandstand, two statues of historical Bitterthorn heroes and a fountain that had never worked. As she guided the car onto Main Street, Payton nodded at a bustling single-story daycare center.

“That place is new, isn’t it?” she asked her mother, who looked out at the building, its yard filled with brightly colored play equipment.

“That’s Leslie Ann Cross’s place. She opened it after she and Donovan married.”

“Didn’t Donovan Cross used to be Wiley’s best friend?”

“He still is. Leslie Ann!” Deborah waved a hand out the window as they rolled to a stop, and a petite blonde looked up from ushering a child indoors.

“Deborah, I was just thinking about you.” Leaning an arm on the car’s windowsill, the woman shot Payton a smile full of dimpled, freckle-faced charm. “My boys have discovered the joys of model building.”

“We just got in a new shipment of fighter jets. This is my daughter, Payton,” Deborah introduced, turning to Payton with a smile. “She’s in San Antonio all this week.”

“For a medical convention, right? Small towns,” the woman added on a laugh when she caught Payton’s expression. “Everyone knows everyone else’s business, whether we like it or not. Wiley had some house trouble last night and wound up at our place.”

“Oh.” Payton kept her tone guarded while frowning curiously at the other woman’s odd wording. What sort of trouble would have brought Wiley to the Cross family’s doorstep? “I see.”

Leslie Ann smiled again, as bright as sunshine. “He mentioned, among other things, that you’re a doctor?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t suppose you’d consider setting up shop here. We could use your services.”

“I’m stunned Wiley didn’t tell you that I’m under contract in Houston.”

“Oh, he did.” Leslie Ann waved a dismissive hand. “Contracts were made to be broken.”

“Not all contracts.”

“Isn’t it lucky you know a good lawyer who can find out for you?”

No force on earth could have stopped Payton’s sigh, and she wondered if everyone heard how gloomy it was. “I’m not sure he’s even speaking to me at this point.”

“There’s one way to find out.” Leslie Ann’s gaze flicked to a point beyond Payton’s shoulder. “He’s pulling up now.”

Before she could stop herself, Payton glanced across the square. On the other side, Wiley’s Corvette pulled into a parking slot in front of a three-story Italianate mansion. The venerable, castle-like structure had originally been the frontier palace of Bitterthorn’s founder, Declan Thorne, Sr., but had long since been converted into office space.

As Payton watched Wiley head into Thorne Mansion, she realized she was holding her breath. Good grief, she was acting as bad as a teenybopper swooning over a red-carpet sighting of the latest heartthrob. “I don’t want to disturb him.”

Leslie Ann laughed. “Too late for that. And I won’t press you any more about coming back to practice medicine here in Bitterthorn. At least not today.”

“She’s nice,” Payton commented as the blonde headed back inside.

“I think so.” Beside her, Deborah tilted her head. “Have you and Wiley quarreled?”

“It’s complicated.” Then she grimaced. “In fact, everything with Wiley is complicated.”

“I remember when he first came to the house to study with you.”

“So does he.”

“I thought he would distract you from your scholastic endeavors.”

Payton snorted and put the car in gear. “Well, he didn’t.”

“I know.” The note of regret in her mother’s voice had Payton glancing back at her. “I look back now and can’t help but think you might have benefited from a little distracting.”

She was so shocked she nearly ran a stop sign. “I think I turned out all right.”

“Oh, of course you did. I never worried about that. I just wonder if you ever get the chance to relax and play a little. Even as a child you were always so serious.”

“You sound like Wiley. For what it’s worth, I do play.” It didn’t matter she couldn’t remember the last time she had. “I’m relaxed now.”

“Good.” Deborah looked out the window as they approached the craft store. “Since you’re so relaxed, maybe now would be a good time to talk things out with Wiley.”

The car stopped with a jerk. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Deborah seemed to withdraw. “Of course. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I have to apologize to him, and I’m not exactly looking forward to it,” Payton muttered, regretting her tone when she glimpsed the hurt in Deborah’s dark eyes. “If it’s a choice between apologizing and setting my hair on fire, it’s a toss-up. I never know how to go about it.”

“‘I’m sorry’ is usually a good start,” Deborah drawled, though her pleasure that Payton had confided in her was obvious. “It won’t hurt so much if you get it over with quickly.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I do.” After she shut the door, Deborah leaned a forearm on the car’s windowsill. “I lost count of how many times I found myself apologizing to your father.”

Payton stiffened. “I’d rather not discuss Dad, if you don’t mind.”

“We’re going to have to sometime.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You were never satisfied here. That was never Dad’s fault.”

“I know. Now that...” Her mother’s voice wavered. “Now that it’s too late.”

Remembered pain squeezed in Payton’s chest until she couldn’t breathe. “Mom...”

“Thanks for the ride. I’ll get a lift home, so don’t worry about picking me up.” With a strained smile, she began to back away.

“Wait.” It was out before Payton knew she was going to speak. “Would you like to have lunch with me?”

“Don’t you have to get back to the convention?”

“Today’s a free day. I can meet you anywhere at any time.”

“Mabel’s, at noon,” Deborah responded on the spot, a brilliant smile spreading over her face. “It’ll be crowded, but I think we’ll be able to find a table.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“What are you going to do between now and then?”

Payton glanced back at the castle-like mansion, the unabashedly arrogant focal point of the town, and sighed. “Finding out what humble pie tastes like.”

“Don’t ruin your appetite.”

Chapter Seven

It took a little imagination, but Payton managed to put off seeing Wiley until just before lunchtime. She told herself it was simple curiosity that compelled her to explore every nook and cranny of her old hometown, but each time she glimpsed Thorne Mansion with its crenellated parapets and arrogant spires out of the corner of her eye, the knots in her stomach grew squirrelier. Unable to bear the suspense any longer, and bored with pretending interest in the restored eighteenth-century frescoes in the old San Severinus Mission, she at last crossed the tree-studded town square.

After entering the mansion’s vestibule where the mailboxes and office numbers could be located, she found his office before she was fully prepared for it on the second floor. Wiley’s outer office was sedate and welcoming, with the expected wood paneling and deep earth tones of leather-upholstered office furniture. A paneled door to what she assumed to be his inner office stood off to one side, while directly in front of her a cheerful transom window spilled sunlight onto the wine-colored carpet. A raven-haired young man was perched on the corner of a cluttered receptionist’s desk, swinging a foot as he flipped through an encyclopedia-sized book. At her entry he glanced up, then smiled in such an appreciative way Payton couldn’t help but feel flattered.

“May I help you?” Twin dimples winked at her, adding bonus points to the young man’s already considerable charm.

“I’m here to see Wiley Sharpe. I don’t have an appointment,” she added when he reached for a touch-screen tablet even as the desk phone suddenly buzzed. “I was hoping I could just drop in on him for a few minutes.”

“He’s with someone at the moment.” Setting the tablet aside, he scooted off his perch and spread his hands wide as he approached. “Perhaps I could help you, Miss...?”

“Pruitt. Dr. Payton Pruitt.” Her glance slid to the phone as it buzzed again.

“Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” He took her hand with the same warmth that was in his golden-brown eyes. “Rafe DeLeon. As Mr. Sharpe’s unofficial paralegal, I’d be happy to help out with any questions you might have concerning legal problems, just to get the ball rolling. Or any other problems you might have, for that matter.”

He was young, or younger than she was, but with that smile of his, he was definitely no innocent. “I don’t think so, Mr. DeLeon.”

“Now, now, no need to be so formal. You’re going to call me Rafe, and I’m going to call you Payton, and we’ll see how things go from there.”

“Okay, Rafe.” With a half laugh, she removed her hand from his and glanced at her watch. She was such an idiot not to have realized she might not be able to see him. In the old days, back before she’d had her brain melted by Wiley’s kiss, she probably would have anticipated that he would be busy. “I’m sorry to have dropped in unannounced. If I could make an appointment for this afternoon—”

“He should be through soon.” He smiled while the phone buzzed in one insistent hum. “Why don’t you stick around for a while? I’m always happy to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman.”

Either Rafe was a natural at the art of flirtation or Wiley had been giving him lessons. “Actually, I’m meeting someone for lunch.”

“Let me guess. Your boyfriend.”

Good grief
. “No. If I could meet with Wiley around two—”

“Rafe!” The inner office door exploded open and Wiley surged out. “I’ve been buzzing you—” He stopped in his tracks when he saw Payton. “Oh. This is a surprise.”

“You... I didn’t want to bother you while you were working.” Payton cleared her throat, suddenly tongue-tied at the sight of him and forgetting Rafe was even in the room. “I just thought that since I was in the neighborhood, I might as well drop by.”

“San Antonio’s not in the neighborhood.”

“No, but Busy Fingers Craft Store is.” She lifted a shoulder, aiming for a casual air while just being in the same room with him had her idiotic heart doing a tap dance against her ribs. “Like I said, I thought I’d drop by.”

His eyes were cool, unwavering. Impossible to read. “I see.”

“You’re staying in San Antonio?” Rafe grinned, lightning quick, apparently unfazed by the tension in the room. “San Antonio’s my hometown. In fact, I’m going to law school there. The boss here is one of my professors.”

“Professor Sharpe, eh?” The corner of her mouth curled as the title brought back memories of how hard Wiley had worked to get those all-important grades. “That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Wiley shrugged. “If you say so. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

“I just wanted to drop in while I had the time.” She glanced at her watch once more and sighed at her idiocy. “And now I don’t have the time.”

“Where are you off to?”

“Mabel’s, and lunch with my mom.”

His expression softened. “Have you seen her?”

“It must be my day for dropping by. I gave her a lift into work.”

“How is she?”

“Different,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “Very different.”

“People change, Payton. Even in our little corner of the world.”

“I’m getting that.” She bit her lip, painfully aware that wasn’t nearly the apology he deserved. “I should have realized that sooner, Wiley. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

His eyes darkened. “Payton—”

“Excuse me, Wiley.” An elegantly built man emerged from Wiley’s office, his dark brown hair waving away from a poetic face. “I’m afraid I have to get to another appointment.”

“Of course.” Though Wiley smiled at the man who seemed familiar to Payton, she loved how his gaze never left her. “Payton, if you’ll just go through to my office, I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Oh no, you’re busy.” Her hand crept up to the gold chain at her neck, then down again when his eyes tracked the movement. “The last thing I wanted to do was disturb you.”

“You? Disturb me? Bless you heart, Payton, you’re priceless.” If young Rafe’s smile was a lightning-quick strike, Wiley’s smile was a level-five hurricane. “Just give me two minutes, okay?”

She wavered under the power of that smile. “Well...”

“Dr. Payton Pruitt, as I live and breathe.” Brimming with old-school Southern charm, the man from Wiley’s office came forward, hand extended. “Isn’t this a lucky coincidence? I was hoping to track you down eventually. I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Chandler Thorne. I’m now the editor of the
Bitterthorn Herald
.”

“Oh. Oh, of course! Chandler.” She shook his hand with new warmth. “I thought I recognized you. We were in church choir together before you went to college in Dallas.”

Both his hands enveloped hers. “I’m flattered you remember me. You were still a little kid when I graduated.”

“Old enough to remember your rendition of ‘That Old Time Rock and Roll’ during the Christmas Nativity dress rehearsal.”

“The acoustics in First Baptist Church were always impressive.”

“Unlike your singing,” she chuckled, her hand still in his. “Though as I recall, you gave it your best shot.”

“For a singer, I make a great journalist,” he agreed, having the grace to look sheepish. “Which is why I was hoping I would bump into you while you were in town.”

“Oh?”

“Rumor has it you might be returning to your hometown to set up a medical practice.”

Somehow she managed to stop her jaw from hitting the floor. “I hope your newspaper doesn’t print rumors.”

“Bite your tongue, Doctor.” His smile was a wicked work of art as he held her hand close to his chest. “We only print the truth, which was why I was hoping to pin you down later today.”

“Dr. Pruitt has contractual obligations in Houston.” Wiley moved between them with the subtlety of a rusty machete, effectively severing the link of their hands. Once freed, he took possession of her hand himself and guided her toward the outer door. “At this time she has no comment for you.”

“Well, well. So you’re representing Dr. Pruitt in this matter?”

“That’s between Dr. Pruitt and me.”

“I’m happy to make this between me and Bitterthorn at large,” Payton cut in, wondering if she could get away with kicking Wiley in the shins without anyone noticing. Probably not. “Wiley does not represent me.”

“We’re still working out our terms,” Wiley said in that same smooth tone while casually opening the door for her. “When we have something to say, you’ll be the first to know, Chandler.”

“Wiley, don’t confuse the issue,” she muttered, unsure if he was playing with her or punishing her for earlier. Either way, this wasn’t her definition of
fun
. “Make no mistake—I’m just saying no to Bitterthorn.”

“You don’t want to keep you mother waiting.” Gently but firmly he kept going until she was out in the hallway. “We’ll talk later, I promise. But for now, why don’t you just run along.”

“
Run along?
” she echoed in disbelief, but she was talking to the smooth surface of the paneled door as he shut it in her face.

Dear God, the sooner she put Bitterthorn and Wiley in her rearview mirror, the better off she’d be.

* * *

“Well.” Deborah’s fair brows inched up as her daughter stalked toward the booth she’d managed to snag. She moved her water glass out of harm’s way as Payton flung herself onto the padded bench opposite her. “I’m almost afraid to ask how your morning went.”

“That idiot,” Payton uncorked, wrapping her fingers around the laminated menu and wished with a not completely healthy fervor it was Wiley’s neck. “I haven’t been treated so much like a child since I was three.
Run along
,” she repeated, and stared at her mother in outrage. “Run along? What I’d like to do is run him
over
. Several times.”

“You took an oath to save lives, not take them.”

“That was before I crossed paths with that...that
attorney
. Which, by the way, is the perfect profession for the likes of Wiley Sharpe,” she added, slapping the menu down without looking at it. “No one is as slick, or as manipulative.”

“I take it your chat didn’t go as planned?”

Payton snorted and reached for her mother’s water. “Hardly.”

“He wasn’t receptive to what you had to say?”

“He didn’t give me a chance to say what I had to say. I barely even had a chance to say hello to Chandler before Wiley hustled me out of there.”

“Chandler?” Deborah peered over the top of the menu. “What was he doing there?”

“Beats me. Seeing Wiley, I suppose. Why?”

“You have been gone too long,” her mother lamented before leaning forward with a confidential air. “Chandler Thorne is a descendent of the founder of Bitterthorn. Everything that family does is proverbial grist for the mill, remember?”

“Of course I do.” But the importance of the name to all Bitterthorn residents had escaped her. She ran a distracted hand through her hair as a harried waitress made a beeline for their table. “He’s the editor for the
Herald
now. He wanted to know if I was coming back to Bitterthorn to open up a practice. Crazy rumors.”

“Heaven knows this town could use you.” Deborah shook her head after the waitress took their orders and sped off. “And you already have a place to stay. Except for a few old boxes, I’ve hardly changed your room at all.”

“Mom—”

“And I would love to have you closer to home.”

“Mother, please stop.” The words were out before she could corral them. “Bitterthorn isn’t home for me, and you never wanted it to be home for you.”

“I never used to,” Deborah corrected, her mouth tightening. “That was a long time ago.”

“Not that long. All my life, the only thing you wanted was to leave here for the city.
Any
city. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve never understood why you two got together in the first place. You’re from the big city, he was as small-town as you could get. Did you think that after you were married you were going to somehow magically change him? Or did Dad lie to you, tell you that you could live anywhere, but instead you got stuck in this little hick town?”

“No, he never lied to me. And Bitterthorn isn’t a hick town.”

Payton’s jaw almost unhinged. “
You’re
the one who always called it that. What, did you suddenly wake up one morning and discover that you didn’t have it so bad here after all?”

Deborah’s eyes hardened. “Watch your tone.”

“Mom.” She exhaled slowly and wrestled with the chaos inside. “Please. I’m just trying to understand why you’re still here.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.” Though her tone was steely calm, there was the slightest tremor in Deborah’s hand as she lifted the water glass to her mouth. “But contrary to how it may have appeared to you, I did know what I was getting into when I married your father.”

“It never seemed that way to me.”

“We fought in front of you, which is a terrible thing for parents to do. But even worse, we never made up in front of you. So I guess in your memory, the battle never ended.”

That made Payton pause, because her mother was right. In her mind, her parents’ marriage had been one never-ending tussle between two hopelessly disparate people. “Did that battle ever end, Mom? Really?”

Her mother tilted her head. “We found our own kind of peace. But it wasn’t perfect, especially for you. After your father’s death—and the blow-up you and I had afterward—I had my eyes opened to a few not so pleasant realities. The first being that I’d been blind to the great life I’d had in my hand, because I was too busy reaching for something else.”

“That’s...understandable.” On automatic Payton tried to defend her mother’s actions; she couldn’t do anything else when the pain in Deborah’s tone struck a resonating chord of hurt in her own heart. “You didn’t want small-town life.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted.”

She searched her mother’s eyes. “Did you even love Dad?”

Surprise rippled across Deborah’s face, followed closely by pain. “No child should be made to even think that question, much less ask it. Yes, Payton, I loved him,” she said, pressing on when Payton wanted to point out that she was no longer a child. “I loved him with my whole heart. I just didn’t love him as well as I should have.”