“Well, look at you!” Colette exclaimed, then said to someone behind Veronica, “Isn’t this color perfect for her?”
Veronica turned, expecting to see the clerk who’d helped them make their selections. Instead she faced four watchful males, studying her with varying levels of interest.
Armand smiled at her with fatherly indulgence. “The bride will have competition for everyone’s attention,” he said with Old World gallantry.
Tate’s expression was fraternal as he moved across the room to put an arm around Colette. “If I didn’t have eyes only for this woman, I’d find out what you were doing after the wedding.”
The other man, who must be Shea, seemed stricken. “I know a woman who wore that color all the time.” He sighed, then seemed to pull himself together. “It looks even more wonderful on a brunette.”
Mike heard Tate say, “Aha! Now we know you’re carrying that torch for a blonde or a redhead.” But he was too distracted to join in the banter that followed.
The only thing on his mind was how much more difficult his life was going to be with Veronica around. She was beautiful. And though he’d briefly held that trim body in his arms, he hadn’t realized just how perfect it was.
Feelings he’d thought long dead weren’t dead at all. They were asleep. And waking up.
It wasn’t simply lust. That would be easy enough to deal with. This was interest...longing. Lust with depth and complications. He wanted to touch her, but he wanted to know her, too. What had sent her into a convent? What had brought her out again?
She’d been a nun. He’d seen things she probably couldn’t even imagine in her worst nightmares.
No. If he got to know her, she’d get to know him, and that might not be a good experience. It had certainly sent Lita, the last woman in his life, running in the opposite direction.
Anyway, he didn’t want anyone that close right now. He wasn’t ready. He might never be ready.
Katie came to take his hand, and smiled up at him, all freckles and sparkle. “Don’t you think she’s pretty, Uncle Mike?”
He couldn’t lie to a child or to a former woman of the cloth. “I think she’s beautiful, Katie,” he admitted, smoothing her hair.
The men decided to wait outside while the women changed. Mike couldn’t remember ever being so desperate for a breath of fresh air.
THE WEDDING PARTY FILLED the small coffee bar with laughter and loud conversation. Veronica sat in the midst of the din and thought how wonderful it was to be surrounded by such joyful noise.
Katie sat in Tate’s lap, Megan talked nonstop to Mike, and Shea, his moroseness banished, was having a serious discussion with Rachel about breakfast menus for the B-and-B.
Colette grinned at Veronica. “Those three are always charming the men,” she said with a jut of her chin in the direction of her daughters and Rachel. “We don’t stand a chance of getting any real attention.”
That was fine with Veronica. She just enjoyed watching the happy group.
She noticed the rapt attention Mike paid to Megan, and the little girl’s complete confidence that she had his interest. He might not want other children around the compound, but he certainly seemed to treasure Colette’s daughters.
“We’re starting on your loft tomorrow, Veronica,” Tate said from the far end of the table. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. “This is what I had in mind to make best use of the space. Will that work for you?”
Colette leaned toward Veronica as she unfolded the sheet and studied the rough blueprint for her new home. A bath and bedroom were side by side at the far end of the oblong space, a U-shaped kitchen took up the middle and a breakfast bar separated it from the living room at the front.
She noticed a narrow space that ran along the very edge of the loft. “What’s that?” she asked, holding up the sheet and pointing to the strip.
“It’s the gallery,” Katie answered. “For keeping books and plants and things. And it’s gonna have windows so you can see down into the day care.”
Colette looked startled. “You didn’t even tell me that,” she complained to Tate.
He shrugged. “You weren’t sitting in my lap when I did it.”
Colette poked a playful finger at her daughter. “That’s because someone else is always in it.”
Katie giggled and leaned back into Tate’s chest, apparently not feeling repentant.
“I think it’s wonderful!” Veronica folded the sheet and handed it back. “I appreciate all the trouble you’re going to for me.”
“We’re happy to have someone in the space. It’ll make the compound completely operational.”
“I can help you with a nutritional menu for the kids’ snacks and meals,” Shea offered. “And we can order your food with ours to make it more economical.”
“Shea’s the sweet one,” Colette said to Veronica in a stage whisper.
Shea pretended modesty.
There was simultaneous grousing from Tate and Mike.
“She plays up to him for his white-chocolatemacadamia-nut brownies,” Tate accused. “I’m the sweet one.”
“No, you’re the orderly one,” Shea corrected. “The detail-obsessed slave driver who never gives any of us a moment’s peace.”
Tate opened his mouth to dispute the point.
“Save it,” Mike advised before Tate could speak. “That was more on target than a smart bomb.”
“I think Mike’s the sweet one.” Rachel, seated between Mike and Shea, patted Mike’s arm. “He takes me shopping once week, and he even had a step installed on the Blazer to make it easier for me to get in.”
Mike spread his hands wide—the seated equivalent of taking a bow.
Then Rachel added with a taunting grin, “You just don’t think of him as sweet because he always looks as though he’s going to arrest you.” She elbowed him affectionately. “You do have to lighten up, dear.”
Veronica watched Mike take the resultant laughter and ribbing with good-natured aplomb. This man was not at all what she expected.
CHAPTER THREE
VERONICA WATCHED THE CREW at work and wondered if this was what an old-fashioned barn raising looked like. Except that in this case, the barn had been put up a hundred years ago and now its innards were being renovated.
Half a dozen men swarmed over the barn, cutting holes for large, modern windows, and building walls both downstairs and up in the loft, according to Tate’s specifications. A full kitchen was installed in the day care, as well as a small, efficient one in her apartment.
Then the carpet came, a mottled hunter green that was vibrant and patterned to conceal dust and spills. Veronica walked across it one evening when the workmen had gone and found it wonderfully springy underfoot.
She sat down in the middle of it, drew up her knees and looked around. Except for light fixtures, which would be installed tomorrow, the structural work was done. Now it was her turn to paint and paper—and get ready for business.
She blessed the impulse that had made her come to Delancey vineyards for a tour three weeks ago. When she’d left the convent, a relative of one of the sisters had gotten her the ESL job in Portland. While she’d been grateful for it, she’d known immediately that she didn’t want to stay there. The small parks throughout the city were beautiful, and Portland was