“Yes, you are. The question is, why?” His thumb rubbed soothingly across the bare flesh of her upper arm. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Cara. I’ve never hurt a woman in my life.”

  Her head snapped in his direction. “Tell that to your wife.” She yanked her arm free and moved behind the counter to begin shoving things onto shelves.

  “Ex-wife,” he corrected.

  “Whatever!”

  He stood with his hands on his hips, confusion slipping into his expression. “What, exactly, does my ex-wife have to do with this?”

  She slapped a box of brushes on the counter with a thump, leaning forward to give him a steady glare. She didn’t answer him directly, saying instead, “There’s physical hurt, and then there’s emotional hurt.”

  “You’re obviously accusing me of one of those. Which is it?” His deep voice told of his rising annoyance, going cold and clipped.

  “I’ve personally experienced the kind of hurt infidelity can cause.”

  Stunned disbelief skittered across his features. “You think I cheated on Andrea?”

  She really didn’t want to have this conversation, but maybe it was best she put her cards on the table, so to speak. Sometime in the past half hour, she’d decided she wanted Finn to do the work on her studio. What she didn’t want were personal complications.

  She’d told him she wasn’t interested. He simply didn’t believe her, and considering her reaction to that bone-melting kiss, why would he? But he would, once he understood the depth of her disdain. She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms.

  “I seem to recall seeing you a couple of years back, having dinner with a very attractive blonde. Funny, she didn’t look anything like your wife.”

  For several heartbeats his face went completely blank, then disappointed resentment hardened his eyes. He raked them over her as if he were looking at something distasteful. When he finally spoke, his voice dripped sarcasm.

  “No, she didn’t, did she? She didn’t appear anything like a high-powered divorce attorney, either. But she sure as hell acted like one, when my loving wife decided she didn’t like the idea of being married to a washed up jock after my second knee surgery.” His furious gaze seared her uneasy one. “Get your facts straight before you accuse, O’Shea.”

  For such a big man, he moved quickly. He stalked across the room to wrench open the door. Fury blazed from his eyes when he paused to glance back.

  “Ralph Gillespie can take care of the changes you want made to the building. I’ll tell him to give you a call.”

  She winced at the crash of the slamming door.

  Well, crap.

  She didn’t even consider he’d been lying. No one was that good an actor. Okay, so she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, but everyone in town knew of her father’s infidelity. Considering her experience with Tom, could Finn really blame her for faulty assumptions?

  Of course he could, and did.

  As much as she hated the idea, she’d have to apologize. Not right away, though. Not while he was so angry. The fury in his eyes was hot enough to singe, but the accompanying flash of disappointment was to blame for the guilt squeezing her heart.

  She still didn’t want a personal entanglement with him, even if he hadn’t turned out to be a cheating dog as she assumed. He’d hit the nail on the head when he said she was scared. More like terrified. The way she burned at his touch proved she had no defense against him, and though she was no longer a shy teenager, Michael Finnegan was way out of her league.

  He said to get her facts straight, before he effectively withdrew his offer of a bid. Well, she didn’t want Ralph Gillespie, whoever he was, tearing into her studio. She wanted Finn. He’d do it right.

  As he had moved throughout the bottom floor of her new home, it became evident he loved the old building as much as she did, and was proud of the work he’d already done. She’d use that possessive streak to get him to change his mind. And she’d get her facts straight, before she offered an apology.

  She’d talk to Maive.

  Chapter Eight

  Cara entered through the back door of the house where she’d grown up. “Ma? Is anybody home?”

  “I’m in the den.”

  Grabbing a soda from the fridge, Cara walked through the silent house. She found Mary with her feet up on the coffee table. A box of old pictures sat on the floor beside her and a pile of photographs rested in her lap.

  “What are you doing?” Clearing a space beside her, Cara sat down and picked up a stack of photos. She grinned at the discolored picture of her and her sisters from years earlier, grinning like maniacs while sitting astride matching bicycles in front of a Christmas tree.

  “I’m sorting through these old shots. I thought Erin would like to have the ones of her, now that she’s married.”

  Cara leaned over to peer at the picture on top of the pile Mary held. Erin, in her high school cheering uniform, preened for the camera. Cara laughed. “She always was a ham.”

  Mary smiled. “She never had a shy bone in her body, that’s for sure.”

  “Unlike some of us,” Cara grumbled in good-natured acceptance.

  “There’s something to be said for being a little timid on occasion.” Mary bumped her shoulder into Cara’s in a gentle nudge. “You always studied the situation before jumping in with both feet. It saved you from being sorry later, like your sister often was, on more than one occasion.”

  “And kept me from experiencing the moment, according to Erin.”

  “I recall a number of times when I could have wished you hadn’t experienced the moment quite so enthusiastically,” Mary scolded with a laugh. “Like the time you slipped the waxed paper under Aunt Paula’s backside on the park slide.”

  Cara burst out laughing. Aunt Paula had shot down the slide like a bullet. She’d landed in the dirt six feet away and had to sit on a pillow for the rest of her visit. Cara had been grounded for a week.

  She snickered. “I can still see her face.”

  Mary’s smile was reluctant. “It was an awful thing to do.”

  “I know, but who knew it would work so well? We saved our money to buy our own waxed paper after that. We charged a nickel a sheet and made a dollar-fifty profit off the neighborhood kids.”

  “Sometimes I’m glad I didn’t know everything you girls were up to. I’d have been gray at thirty.”

  Mary paused in sorting the photos when she came across a picture of her and Tom, smiling at the camera on a beach with a brilliant sunset in the background.

  “Ma.” Cara draped an arm around her shoulders.

  Mary tossed the picture on to the growing pile, and shook her head. “I’m fine. I was just remembering how much fun we all had on that trip.”

  “Come on, Ma.”

  At Cara’s doubtful tone, Mary set the pile of pictures on the table. “Honestly, Cara. You don’t need to look at me like I’m going to shatter.”

  “I worry about you, Ma. What he did to you was so unfair.”

  Mary dropped her head to Cara’s shoulder for just a moment. “I know you worry, but you don’t have to.” She straightened and brushed the hair back from Cara’s face. “It’s been a long time, sweetheart. Believe it or not, I’m happy with my life, and your father and I have come to a workable understanding.”

  She knew they had. She just didn’t understand it and didn’t think she ever would. “He wants to talk to me. He’s left several messages on my machine.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “I don’t know, Ma.” She stood, too agitated to sit, and began to pace. “I don’t know what he expects me to say to him, and I can’t think what he could possibly have to say to me.”

  “Maybe he wants to tell you he loves you.”

  “God.” Instant tears clouded her vision. She swiped at them with stiff fingers. “How can you defend him?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Please,” Cara huffed, and shook her head in disbelief.

  “Don’t take that tone with me, Cara Brennan,” Mary said sharply, her mouth stretched tight in a disapproving line.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ma.” Returning home was proving more difficult than she’d imagined. So many conflicting emotions swirling just beneath the surface left her floundering. She lost the battle with her tears, but tried to laugh them off with a weak smile. Her mother wasn’t buying it. She rose from the couch and wrapped Cara in her gentle arms.

  “Sweetheart, I know he hurt and disappointed you in the worst way possible. He hurt and disappointed me, too, and for a long time I struggled to forgive him. But over time, I’ve come to understand what he did, which he didn’t do maliciously. He loves you girls so much, and it pains him to know how much he’s hurt you.”

  Cara pulled back and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for him because he’s hurting? He made his choices and to hell with all of us.”

  “No, sweetheart. No one expects you to feel sorry for him. You’re entitled to feel however you feel, but look at you. The situation with your father is tearing you apart because you’ve never really dealt with it. Wouldn’t you feel better if you understood his reasons? Knowledge is power, as they say.”

  “I’ll never understand him,” Cara sniffed.

  “Not if you never try.” Mary held up a hand when Cara opened her mouth to object. “If you don’t want to talk to him, that’s your choice. But isn’t that how you’ve handled the situation so far? It doesn’t appear to have made you very happy. I want my babies to be happy.”

  Mary pulled a tissue from her pocket. Cara accepted it and blew her nose.

  “Did you know your father knew Hannah before we were married?”

  Cara froze with the tissue pressed to her nose. “What?”

  “They dated in high school.”

  “Does that make what they did right?” Cara demanded. How could her mother be so accepting? She was talking about her husband, who had left her for another woman.

  “No, it doesn’t make anything right,” Mary answered softly. “But time moves on. I’ve gotten over it. Can you say the same?” When Cara remained silent, Mary sighed. “This estrangement between the two of you has left you sad. I’m afraid it’s going to make you bitter.” She tucked an errant curl behind Cara’s ear. “I know a good portion of the anger you have for your father is on my behalf.”

  “And justified,” Cara insisted.

  “Yes, it’s justified, but I don’t want that responsibility, Cara. I don’t want to be responsible for you not having a father, even an imperfect one. What’s between Tom and me is our business. If you want to be mad at him for something he did to you, fine, that’s your right. I just can’t stand the idea of you cutting yourself off from him as a kind of backhanded support for me.”

  She patted Cara’s cheek and returned to the sofa. “You haven’t yet learned the truth of this apparently, but nobody’s perfect, sweetheart. I’m not being glib,” she insisted when Cara rolled her eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, everyone has something about them that you won’t like, even those you love the most. If you shove everyone who ever disappoints you out of your life, you’re going to end up a lonely hermit.”

  Guilty as charged. Since Cara didn’t know how to respond, she remained silent.

  “Talk to him, Cara. It’s up to you whether you can forgive him or not once you do. I hate seeing you so miserable, and until you settle things with your father, well...I hate seeing you miserable.”

  ****

  The idea of talking to her father made Cara’s stomach ache, so she put it out of her mind. As it turned out, her talk with Maive also had to wait. Which was just as well. If the curt nod Finn gave Cara two days later, when he passed her at the permit counter in the town hall, was any indication, he would need more time to get over his anger.

  She’d decided to go ahead and get the permit paperwork for the renovation started, even before they’d settled things—if things between them could be settled. She was itching to get started, and Maive’s unexpected absence, while visiting her great grandchildren for a few days, only added to the delay. Cara hadn’t had a chance to talk to Finn’s great aunt yet, and she wasn’t going to go begging for forgiveness until she had.

  On Saturday morning, she walked the two blocks to the Palmer House Restaurant to meet Erin, just back from her honeymoon. Strolling along the tree-lined sidewalk, Cara dodged two young boys on skateboards. She grinned at the rhythmic clatter of the hard rubber wheels calling out a steady cadence on the seamed cement pathway.

  Her eyes drank in the familiar sights of the various homes and storefronts of the town center. With the exception of the new library across from the town hall, built a few years back, and the bright neon sign flashing outside the video store where Pandy’s market used to be, she could be thirteen again, racing to meet Meggy for an ice cream at the Dairy Barn.

  She chuckled at the memory.

  Thinking of Meggy, she considered her reason for meeting Erin this morning. A sous chef at one of the more upscale restaurants in Boston, Meggy had long dreamed of running her own kitchen. Her eyes lit with interest yesterday when Jill Carlson, who it appeared was the current president of the town grapevine, had stopped by the studio to announce the historic Palmer House restaurant might soon be on the market. Jill breezed out of the studio after a twenty-minute gossip session, and Cara immediately turned to her friend.

  “Are you interested in buying the restaurant?”

  “Are you kidding me? The property is gorgeous. And this close to Boston, it’s a prime location. Close enough to draw people from the city, without the overhead of a downtown location. With the right menu...” Meggy sighed wistfully, shaking her head. “But I could never swing it. I have some money put aside, but not nearly enough. I’m not ready yet. Besides, I’m a chef, not a businesswoman. What the hell do I know about running a restaurant? I wouldn’t know where to begin on the business side.”

  The germ of an idea sprouted in Cara’s mind. “Shan’s been managing Spinelli’s for six years.”

  Meggy’s brows jumped together in interest. “Do you think she’d be interested? Does she have any money?”

  “I have no idea if she’d be interested, and I doubt she has any money.” The cautious excitement in Meggy’s eyes faded. “I, on the other hand, do have money.” Cara grinned.

  She had cautioned Meggy that Shan may not be interested regardless, and decided to check with Mrs. Hawkins before she approached her sister with the idea. Years of sampling Meggy’s and Shan’s recipes convinced Cara the two women would cook circles around the short order cook at the family restaurant. However, if the owner wasn’t considering selling, there would be no point in pursuing the idea.

  Erin waited at the front counter, flashing her wedding band at the teenage hostess when Cara arrived at the Palmer House.

  “Erin, Erin, married lady.”

  “Cara!” Erin spun around and grabbed Cara in a hug.

  “How was the honeymoon?” She laughed when her vivacious sister fanned her face with her hand while rolling her eyes to the back of her head. “That bad, huh? Do we need to have a family meeting, so I can explain the birds and the bees to my new brother-in-law?”

  Erin’s smile was dreamy. “Oh, Cara. It was so beautiful. Bermuda is another world!”

  “So I’ve heard.” She glanced at the teenage hostess. “We need a table, please.” When they were seated, Cara grinned. “Well, marriage certainly agrees with you. You look like a million bucks.”

  “I feel like a billion!” They gave their orders to the waitress, and Erin leaned forward on her elbows. “So, how’s the studio coming along?”

  “The plans are made and the permits have been filed. I’m just waiting on the contractor.” She was hedging, but Finn and that disaster in her studio the other day weren’t something she planned to discuss, with anyone.

  When Mrs. Hawkins exited the kitchen, she immediately ambled over to their table. She smiled down at Erin. “If it isn’t Mrs. Espizitto!”

  Erin beamed a delighted smile. “Hello, Mrs. Hawkins. Do you remember my sister, Cara?”

  “Of course I do. I hear welcome home is in order.”

  “Yes, it is.” Cara returned the older woman’s smile.

  “I also heard you bought the old book store. That must have made Finn crazy! He’s been after Maive to sell it to him for years.”

  Cara blinked. She’d forgotten how few secrets there were in Palmerton. “He’ll get over it.” She bared her teeth in a sly grin and Mrs. Hawkins laughed. “There’s another interesting bit of gossip going around town,” Cara introduced. “Rumor is you want to retire to spend more time with your grandkids.”

  If Mrs. Hawkins was surprised people knew her private business, she didn’t show it. She smiled serenely, and nodded. “I’ve been in business for twenty-six years. It’s time I remove my apron and take my grandbabies to Disneyworld.”

  “Have you had any offers on the place?” Cara ignored the questioning stare Erin shot at her.

  “As I haven’t actually put it on the market yet, no, I haven’t. Why? I thought you were an artist not a restaurateur.”

  Cara laughed. “Oh, painting is my forte. The only thing I know how to do with food is eat it.”

  Mrs. Hawkins chuckled and moved aside when the waitress appeared with their breakfasts. “Well then, I’ll leave you to enjoy your meals.”

  “What was that all about?” Erin asked the moment Mrs. Hawkins walked away.

  Cara salted her omelet. “How do you think Shan would feel about becoming the owner of her own restaurant?”

  Erin leaned back in her chair. “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t know. That depends on Shan, and Meggy. Between the two of them they could give the other three restaurants in town a run for their money, don’t you think?”

  Erin tapped her fork on the table, as if considering the idea. “I think Shan would love it, but you know she’ll balk at the idea of you lending her the money.”

  Cara shrugged. “Maybe not. Meggy has some money put aside. She’s interested in a partnership with Shan. With Meggy putting up half the money, Shan could consider me a silent investor. It really depends on what Mrs. Hawkins wants for the place.”

 

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