woken up this morning to the nagging feeling that he wanted her to know it wasn’t personal. That it had nothing to do with her, but everything to do with him and the fact that he had no intention of cleaning up the mess Daphne had managed to make of his father’s business.
He was sure he looked like a monster to her.
And it bothered him.
Movement just past the window caught his eye. Sam, one of the Percherons, stood at the board fence at the edge of the yard, using a post top to reach an itch under his jaw. In the daylight, Jack could see that gray hair had long since threaded its way through the horse’s mane, but there was still a dignity to him that made Jack remember how proud his father had been of the team. As proud of those horses as he’d been of the business he’d built from the ground up. A wave of sadness hit him for the fact that they would not live out the rest of their lives here, and for the imminent demise of the furniture business his father had put his life into.
But Jack wasn’t responsible for the collapse of the company. Only the decision to let it go. And it was the right decision.
He thought about Annie and the disappointment in her eyes. It was the right decision.
Essie set a plate in front of him, covered with enough bacon, eggs and homemade biscuits to feed a family of four. “That’s the best-looking meal I’ve seen in ages,” Jack said, turning off the laptop he’d used to download the file Pete had sent him last night. “Aren’t you eating, Es?”
“Already did,” she said, dropping a frying pan in the sink and reaching for a scrub brush. “You go ahead. Enjoy.”
He’d just polished off the last of his bacon when he heard himself asking, “Do you know Annie McCabe, Essie?”
“Everybody knows Annie,” Essie said, taking a dish towel to the frying pan she’d just finished scrubbing.
“I met her last night. Seems like a nice woman.”
“Maybe too nice. Got herself lassoed into finishing out her ex-husband’s term as mayor. Far as I’m concerned, she’s done a much better job at it than he ever would have, too. How a man could leave a wife and son like that to run off with some young thing he hadn’t known more than a few days—” Essie broke off there, shaking her head. “I don’t understand people anymore. Commitments just don’t mean what they used to.”
On that, Jack had to agree. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago. And yet he’d somehow managed to live his own life as a perfect example of a man unable to commit.
Jack was still thinking about that thirty minutes later over another cup of coffee and the rest of the morning paper. Essie had gone off to run an errand in town. The doorbell rang and he went to answer it.
Annie McCabe stood on his front porch looking as though she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Another woman stood next to her, her body language making it clear she was the one who’d brought them here.
“I’m sorry to come by so early,” Annie said. “This is—”
“Hi, I’m Clarice Atkins,” the other woman interrupted, sticking out a hand. “Annie’s sister and editor of the county newspaper. Is there any way we could take up a little of your time this morning?”
Never would have guessed the sisters part. The two women bore no physical resemblance whatsoever. Not even in the way they carried themselves. The world had never said no to the sister.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside and waving them past him. “How about some coffee?”
“We’ve had our quota, but thank you,” Clarice said. “What a beautiful house. I’ve admired it so many times from the road.”
“Thanks.” He pointed them toward the kitchen, followed behind, noticing some details of the two: Annie was three or four inches taller, had full, shoulder-length hair, a sort of sun-dappled blond. Clarice’s hair hung midback, the color more along the lines of Marilyn Monroe’s. Most interesting still, the body language. Annie looking as if she’d been dragged here. Clarice pretty sure she was going to get what she came for.
In the kitchen, they stood for a moment, he not exactly sure what was expected of him.
“Lovely view,” Clarice said, looking out the big kitchen window where Sam was still hanging out by the fence. “What kind of horses?”
“Percherons. They were my