Close to You (28 page)

Closing the drawer, she stood up and lifted a blue wrap dress from her closet before padding toward the guest suite.

Time to let go of Jackson Gregory. She was a married woman and was going to do everything in her power to make it work because it was the right thing to do.

* * *

H
alf an hour later, Allie returned to the kitchen, hair blow-dried, makeup on, the bottom of her dress swishing around her knees.

The room smelled like an intoxicating blend of onions, garlic, and basil. Pausing in the doorway, she took in the scene. Derek stood over a simmering pot of pasta sauce, a glass of water beside him. Water, not beer. That was different too. He even wore an apron, and there seemed to be the hint of a hum above the boiling and chopping.

In spite of her reservations, her spirits lifted.

Looking up, he broke into a smile when he saw her. “You look amazing.”

She couldn't help but smile in return. “Thanks.” She walked toward him. “What can I do to help?”

He waved his hand toward the fridge. “Grab a drink. Sit. I've got it all under control.”

She turned on the oven for the bread as she walked toward the fridge. Taking out a bottle of apple juice, she poured herself a glass and added a few sprigs of mint from the plant sitting on Susannah's windowsill.

Turning around, she found him staring at her.

“What?”

“I'd forgotten how beautiful you are.”

It was all a bit overwhelming. She busied herself with returning the juice and grabbing the items for the salad out of
the vegetable drawer. She stayed for a couple of extra seconds, allowing the coolness of the interior to sweep over her.

Her shoulders loosened. This could be her life. There were plenty of girls who would give their right arm for this.

Bumping the door closed with her hip, she laid the pile of ingredients onto the countertop and removed a chopping board from the rack. Locating another knife and a salad bowl, she started dicing tomatoes.

The two of them worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, and with every passing second her frayed nerves relaxed.

“What kind of pasta did you want to do?” She looked up to see Derek lifting the lid off a boiling pot of water.

“There's some fresh fettuccine in the fridge.” Allie turned to open the door and get it out, just as Derek's hand also closed over the handle.

There was no denying something arched in the air between them. His fingers wrapped around hers and she looked up, finding herself caught in his gaze.

She forced herself to hold it, tried to shove away thoughts of the blue eyes she really wanted to be looking into.

“Allie, I . . .” His words faded as he reached up and caressed her cheek, then tugged some hair behind her ear.

All she had to do was move the smallest distance, give him the slightest indication, and it was clear what would happen next. Everything churned. Did she want this?

The churning kicked up a notch, but it wasn't desire. So much for divine intervention. There was only one guy she wanted to kiss and it wasn't her husband. “Der—” The sound of her phone ringing cut her off—not that she even knew what she planned to say.

She tugged her hand out from under his and walked to the sideboard, where her phone lay. Her heart thundered.

She picked it up and swiped, thankful for the excuse to gather her thoughts and quiet her emotions. “Hello?” Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Derek pull the fettuccine out of the fridge and head back toward the pot now threatening to boil over.

“Hi, can I speak to Allison Shire, please?” The woman's tone was cultured.

“Speaking.”

“This is Deborah Moore. I'm an associate at White, Smith & Thompson. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to return your call. We've been trying to work through Mr. Kilpatrick's files since his passing and it's taken longer than we would've liked. And your message had us a little confused, so I wanted to ­double-check everything before I called, just in case there'd been a mistake on our part and we'd sent you the incorrect information.”

Her hands tightened around the phone as she turned her back to Derek. “Oh? How so?”

“Well, your message referred to papers you received from us notifying you of the court's decision to decline your annulment petition.”

“That's right.” Something propelled her to walk farther away from her husband. Rounding the other end of the island counter, she watched him as he turned down the gas and dropped the pasta into the water, seemingly oblivious to her conversation.

“That's not correct. On the thirteenth of May, the court granted your petition on the basis of Mr. McKendrick being
already married. We sent papers to you on the fourteenth to that effect.”

Granted your petition on the basis of Mr. McKendrick being already married.
The words echoed in her head.

“So I'm not . . .” Her words trailed off, her mouth failing to form them.

“Married. No, legally you never have been. Would you like me to resend you the papers?”

“Actually, I'll come in and collect them, if that's okay.”

“Of course. I'll leave a package for you at reception. We're still in the process of unfreezing your assets, but that shouldn't be more than a couple of weeks away. Your banking and investment accounts are all done. You should be receiving confirmation regarding them any day now. The house will probably take the longest because of all the paperwork involved.”

Allie struggled to process the information coming at her. She had money again.
She wasn't married
. “That's fine. Thank you.”

“I'm very sorry for whatever the misunderstanding was that occurred.”

Misunderstanding. Whatever there had been, a misunderstanding was not it. “Thank you. And thanks for calling.”

Pressing the
END CALL
button on the phone, she placed it carefully down on the sideboard. She was free—free! It had all been a lie, again. Somehow, Derek had gotten her copy of the papers and substituted them. For what?

Ice washed over her as she stared at her not-husband's back. Had he already intercepted her new bank cards? Emptied her accounts? It wasn't unthinkable, given that he must have some
how accessed the papers from her lawyers and replaced those with false ones.

Derek turned around and smiled. “Pasta will be done in a few minutes.”

She looked at the man who had almost brought her to ruin, again. Whatever memories, wistfulness, and wishful thinking had existed a few minutes before had disappeared like a vapor. “How long?”

His brow crinkled. “Three, maybe four minutes?”

He was still talking about pasta while she was watching her life unravel. Again. But this time she wasn't going to run away. “No, how long did you honestly think you had before I would find out the truth? I mean, surely even you knew there was going to be a limit to how long you could intercept my mail and whatever else was required for me not to find out.”

He looked at her and with slow, deliberate moves turned around and twisted the knob for the pasta pot to the off position. She battled the urge to grab the metal container and dump its boiling contents over his head.

Turning back, he wiped his hands on a dishcloth and shrugged. “I figured I'd play it for as long as it lasted.”

His eyes were cold, his face hard. The facade of the repentant, besotted Derek from a few minutes ago well and truly gone.

“Why?”

“C'mon, Allie. You're not that stupid. Why would a guy like me bother with a girl like you?”

All her internal organs started twisting around each other. “I'm going to take a flying guess your visa is due for renewal
sometime soon and you need me for that . . .” She trailed off. Why did he want to stay in New Zealand so badly? Was there yet more she didn't know about him? Some big reason he didn't want to go back to England?

Her hands gripped the back of the bar stool he'd been sitting on. Then she remembered it wasn't her problem anymore.
Thank God.
“And did you really think after everything, I'd let you near my money anytime soon? Even if I did think we were married?”

“I would've found a way. It had all been too easy so far.”

“Too easy . . .” She repeated his words stupidly.

He let out a laugh ringing with scorn. “Nothing to it. Once I found out what hotel you were staying at, it wasn't too hard to flirt your room number out of the receptionist. I used that to pick up your mail, swap the papers out, and give it back pretending to be another guest who'd gotten your mail by mistake, then sit back and watch you swallow it hook, line, and sinker.”

The guy standing opposite her might be incapable of genuine human decency but she had to admit he was fully deserving of the Oscar for Best Actor.

He picked up his jacket. “When I met that Jackson guy, I thought he might actually pose a challenge. An unexpected complication.” His face turned smug. “But even dispatching him wasn't a problem. I almost felt sorry for the guy. He actually seemed to care about you.”

Everything started buzzing at the mention of Jackson.

She swayed, her grip on the stool the only thing holding her upright. This could not be happening.
This is not happening, God.

“Oh dear. Don't tell me I disrupted the path of true love. Don't worry, Al.” Seriously. If he called her that one more time, she was going to punch him.

“ . . . I'm sure given much longer, he too would've worked out you're nothing special.” His expression, tone, everything, openly mocked her. The guy was a sociopath.
She'd had a lucky escape.

The thought cut through all of her confusion and panic. Her mind suddenly cleared and an eerie calmness flooded through her.

“Get out.” She managed to force the two words out.

He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand.

“Get. Out.” She took a few steps backward before she started looking for things to start throwing.

He walked toward the door. Pausing, he turned back and smirked. “It was always a long shot. I can't believe I almost got away with it. Twice. How stupid can one per­-son be?”

Suddenly, she was across the room, two years of pent-up rage and betrayal channeling through her fist and into his face. Derek's expression spun through emotions like a roulette wheel as he stumbled back, hands over his nose.

Getting his balance back, he took his fingers away for a second. Enough to glimpse that they were covered in blood.

Not a single atom in her was sorry.

She shook out her throbbing hand, opening and closing her fingers. The movies never showed you how much actually punching someone hurt. The guy had one heck of a hard face; she'd give him that.

Derek glared at her. “If it's broken, I'm going for assault.” His words were muffled through his hands.

Allie took another step so they were almost toe to toe. “I'd think pretty hard about that. You make me lawyer up again and I'll be coming after you for fraud, theft, and whatever else they can come up with. Now that I have all my money back, I need something to spend it on. Now, get out. Now!”

Derek spat some blood onto Susannah's hardwood floor. Adrenaline surged through Allie's body at the undisguised loathing on his face. She fought the impulse to back down, put distance between them. For the first time it struck her that maybe now was the time to be afraid, not feisty. But she was done with being afraid.

After one last glare, Derek spun around and stormed out, the echo of his feet detailing the path of his departure.

Allie let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, her head whirling as the vibration of the door slamming echoed through the house. The whole thing had been a lie. Derek was gone. Forever. It was over. Finally.

Her legs buckled, and she hit the shiny floor.

Allie's whole body heaved against gravity as it was swallowed into an ocean of grief. One with no shoreline in sight.

This was not how her story was supposed to end.

The light outside grew dimmer until darkness tiptoed through the windows. So many things spun through her head, she couldn't even finish one thought before another interrupted, clamoring to be heard.

She waited for the much-talked-about “peace that passes all understanding.” For some kind of epiphany that would make
things better or at least bearable, but nothing came. Just the big, gaping chasm.

She'd tried to do the right thing, but in doing so, she'd destroyed what she had with the guy she loved to be with the one she was married to. She'd turned down the opportunity to apply for her dream job. All for nothing.

Thirty-Two

“A
LL RIGHT, ENOUGH
. T
IME TO
move on out.” Susannah's very loud voice accompanied bright sunlight flooding Allie's nice dark cave, also known as Susannah's spare room, which she hadn't moved from since Tuesday night, except for the bare necessities. It was now Friday. Or maybe Saturday.

For all of their differences, her big sister had proven to be more than adept at dealing with the mess of a human she'd come home to after Derek had stormed out. It turned out that nothing accelerates the reformation of sisterly bonds quite like one of them needing to be scraped off the kitchen floor.

“Up. Up. Up!”

Noooo.
Allie groaned and burrowed farther under the covers. She'd handed in her notice and still had a couple of days before she was due to return for her final tour.

Her sister was determined. Sheets and blankets were ripped back. Allie scrunched her eyes shut against the glare. Who knew sunlight could be so painful? She rolled over and buried
her head under her pillow. Maybe if she ignored her, Susannah would go away. Actually, scratch that; it had never worked before.

“I. Am. Not. Getting. Up.”

The pillow was ripped from her grasp. “Yes. You. Are.”

Lifting her head up, Allie looked at her sister through blurry eyes. As per usual, Susannah looked immaculate in a blue sweater and cargo pants, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She also looked insanely cheerful for what had to be some obscene hour of the morning.

“Susannah, I'm heartbroken. In fact, let me rephrase that. I am heart-shattered. Into a gazillion tiny pieces. I've spent the last three days bawling my eyes out.”

Her sister looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Actually,
darling
 . . .”

Definitely more than a hint of sarcasm in “darling.”

“. . . you've only spent part of the last three days bawling your eyes out. You've also spent part of it watching every chick flick I own”—she gestured at the pile of DVDs on the floor—“eating the supermarket out of every cheesecake and tub of ice cream they have in stock, and reading far too many trashy magazines.” Her foot nudged the precarious pile at her feet.

Allie glanced around the room. Hmm, there were a lot of empty ice cream containers scattered around the place, now that she mentioned it. It also smelled a little like a gym bag had been left to fester in a corner somewhere.

She sat up and crossed her arms. “Yeah, so?” She scowled at her sister. “I think I've earned the right to a few days of self-pity. Don't you? Now if you'll excuse me.” Reaching over, she grabbed her pillow from Susannah's arms. “I am going back to
wallowing. Feel free to open the window as you close the curtains on your way out.”

Susannah sighed and sat down on her bed.

No. Don't do that. You're going.

“Bug, I love you, and if I thought floundering in your misery would help you get over it, I would leave you to it, but it's not. All it does is give you way too much time to rehash ­Jackson-and-Allie memories and second-guess everything you ever said and did. It's a beautiful Saturday morning. It's time to reenter the real world. Because for a start, if you don't get your backside on that plane tomorrow, you might not have a job left to show up to.”

Like that was such a big loss. “I don't care.” Allie moaned, throwing herself back on the bed and burrowing her head in her arms.

The bed shifted as Susannah reached down. The sound of pages turning filtered through. Allie peered at her sister over her arms. Why was her sister always right?

Susannah held up a couple of magazines. “Look, most of these headlines are about famous women getting dumped. It happens to the most successful women in the world. You're in great company.” She pointed at one cover. “I mean, it's not like your husband had an affair or you got ditched on national television.”

If only. “Look at all those girls. We both know in a couple of months they'll all be back on the cover with some hot new guy while I'll still be here alone and heartbroken.” She looked at all the ice cream containers around her. “And faaaaat.”

Susannah stood up. Finally. Thank goodness, she was going to give in and let her stay in bed. She turned around as she
reached the door, perfect ponytail swishing. “I'm sorry. I really didn't want to do this but you've given me no choice.”

Huh?

A few seconds later her sister returned, holding Ed waaaaay out in front of her.

What was going on? A second later her nostrils were assaulted by the smell of something between mustard gas and a cowpat she'd once had the misfortune of falling into. “Good grief. What is that?” She pinched her nose, but to no avail.

Susannah grimaced. “That is my darling son. Check this out.” She turned him around to reveal a slimy brown stain seeping down his pants. Allie retched, eyes watering. “Here, hold him a sec.”

Before she could refuse, Susannah shoved the little stink bomb into her arms and disappeared.

Allie adopted an identical pose—holding her nephew as far away from her as possible. It wasn't easy, when he wasn't exactly the world's most petite toddler. “Hey. You can't leave him here. Where are you going?”

Her smelly nephew grinned. “Stinky poop!”

She couldn't hold him any longer so she lowered him to the floor. “Aren't you supposed to be toilet trained by now?”

“Nappy is gross!”

“Yeah, no kidding, pal.”

Susannah marched back into the room dragging Ed's activity table behind her and chucked it into the corner closest to the bed.

Allie caught a glimpse of the evil plan her sister had brewed. Oh no, she didn't!

“Right.” Susannah spoke through her own pinched nose.
“Here's your choice. You can stay here as long as you like. Weeks, in fact. But he stays in here with you.”

Over her dead body. Which, judging by the potency of his nappy combined with the small size of the bedroom, might well be sooner than she had imagined.

“Aw, come on, Susannah. That's cruel and inhumane. In fact . . .” She paused to try and wipe her watering eyes on her T-shirt-clad shoulder. “I'm pretty sure it could be classified as biological warfare.”

Susannah took her son from her hands and serenely carried him toward his toys. “Be that as it may, I've given you your options. Outside with the world, or in here with Mr. Stinky. Your choice.”

Allie looked around her Laura Ashley–inspired cave and then over at her nephew grinning up at her. With every second, the smell grew even more gag-worthy. No way she could stay in this room with that. She was depressed, not suicidal.

“All right. I give up. But it'll be all your fault when Ed doesn't have cousins. You've put me off of ever having children.” As if it was even a remote possibility anyway, right now.

Her sister glanced at her son and grimaced. “Well then, poor Ed's going to be stuck with just his big sister, because he's put me off having any more children as well. Now, you've got thirty seconds to decide what big move you're going to make to change your life. I know we have our differences, but we are Shires. When we get knocked down, we get back up. End of story. You are scary smart and beautiful, and you are too good to waste any more time wallowing over a guy who was never worth you. Twenty seconds.”

Her sister's words powered up something inside her. She
was better than this. Derek had taken all he was going to get. God had not given her breath so she could waste one more of them on him. “Can you pass me my phone?” She gestured to where it sat on the armoire.

Susannah picked it up and tossed it to her, underhand style. Picked up Ed from where he'd wrapped himself around her legs.

Allie scrolled through her contacts. Please let her have saved it. Please. The name lit up her screen, and she hit it before she could second-guess herself.

“Dr. Everett.”

“Dr. Everett, it's Dr. Shire here.”

“Dr. Shire.” He sounded surprised, but not in a bad way. “What can I do for you?”

“My family situation has changed since we last spoke. I was wondering if the applications were still open for the position we spoke about.”

“They are.” She could hear a smile in his voice. “But only just. They close in four hours. That is, they close today, but we didn't specify a time, so I'm assuming we'll be accepting them until midnight.”

It couldn't have been more an answer to prayer if an enormous divine finger had appeared and painted
GO TO ENGLAND
on the wall.

Blowing out her breath, she managed her first genuine smile since the second before Derek had shown up in the café and shattered everything. “You'll have my application by then.”

“I look forward to it. Good night, Dr. Shire.”

The dial tone left her with an uncontrollable grin on her face.

“What was that about?”

She stared at her screen for a second, then up at Susannah. “I'm applying for a lecturing job at Oxford.”

Her sister's eyes widened. “When did this all happen?”

Allie didn't respond, a stark realization seeping into her. She couldn't go to Oxford, or really move on with her life, until she at least tried to make amends for one of her biggest failings.

Allie looked at her sister. “I need to find Jackson. I can't do this until I make things right. In person.”

“How are you going to do that?”

Given that she'd wiped his number from her phone the day she'd decided to give Derek another chance, there was only one way she could think of. “I'm going to Iowa.”

Her sister high-fived her. That hadn't happened in a decade. “Oh yes, you are.” She dropped Ed onto Allie's lap. “After you change one nuclear nappy.”