Prue tried to understand that and couldn’t.
“What are you talking about?” she asked crossly. “Love is about supporting and respecting one another. You might remember that I’ve been doing this longer than you have. I did it for four years while he claimed to be working too hard to do it for me, only to find out that he was fooling around.”
“He said he wasn’t.”
“I saw him!”
“You saw him fully dressed with a nearly naked woman in his lap. I think it’s entirely possible his explanation could be true.”
“Yeah, well, your future doesn’t hinge on the possibility that it could also be a lie.”
“Okay,” Paris sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you, especially now that I’m carrying a baby and you’re about to become the next Donna Karan.”
Prue drew a calming breath. They’d have never agreed to disagree in the old days; they’d have fought an issue until they weren’t speaking. Both of them had learned a lot and gained some maturity over the past year.
“Okay,” Prue said. “And I appreciate all you did to make the fashion show a success. The library made a lot of money, and so did I.”
Paris grinned wryly. “I think my fainting on the runway earned you some pity business, but we can’t take issue with that. So, how are you going to fill all those orders?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Now that I have a little cash to play with, I’m going to hire help. And Rosie DeMarco from Happily Ever After might be willing to help me if her sister’s around to watch the shop.”
“Sounds like you have it all worked out.”
“Planned out, anyway. Whether everything goes according to plan is another matter.”
They’d reached the old Chandler Mill Building on the river where Prue had her studio in an upstairs space. Paris pulled into the parking lot. “Call me when you’re done for the day,” she said, “and we’ll go for Chinese. Randy’ll be at the fire station tonight and I can visit but I can’t hang around too long.”
Prue nodded. “That’ll be fun. When you’re not home, I feel like a fifth wheel with Jeffrey at Mom’s. I mean, I love him dearly and I think it’d be wonderful if he and Mom got together, I just don’t want to be in their way.”
“I’m sure you’re not. You know Mom. She’d tell you if you were. She’d put it charmingly, but she’d tell you.”
They laughed together, not at their mother, but at their shared knowledge of her passive-aggressive honesty.
Paris gave her a quick hug as she reached for the car door. “I’ll butt out of your business, I promise. I just want you to be happy.”
Prue hugged her back. “Prudent Designs makes me very happy,” she assured her. “And usually, having you for a sister does, too. Unless you try to convince me that candy is poison like you did when we were children, or…”
“You know, the Heart and Health Association proved me right on that one.”
“Or—” Prue talked over her “—you interfere in my love life.”
Paris gave her a look. “Do you even have a love life?”
Prue angled her chin. “I might someday, and I wouldn’t want you to interfere.”
“I understand,” Paris said gravely.
“Incidentally…” Prue couldn’t help the wide smile. “Remember when I was five and you were seven and we stole the chocolate-chip cookie dough while Mom was talking to Dad on the phone?”
Paris nodded. “We told her Mopsy got it. We were so bad at fibbing. Your creative nature apparently didn’t kick in until later.”
“She believed us,” Prue told her. “I just found out this morning. When I told her we lied, she was shocked.”
Paris grinned with the old mischief of their childhood. “You’re kidding! That story was so transparent!”
Prue made a face. “Now I feel guilty. I suppose she loved us, so she trusted us.”
Prue thanked Paris for the ride and promised to call her when she was finished for the day. Then she got out of the car and let herself into the building as Paris drove away.
Trust. There was that word Prue didn’t want to hear again. At least not today, because it brought to mind the image of Gideon’s face telling her he didn’t want her back because he couldn’t live with anyone who didn’t trust him.
Well, she was embarking on her own future, and she didn’t want to have to trust anyone but herself.
GIDEON SAT on an antique settee in front of the fire in the parlor of the Yankee Inn. He’d had a long telephone conversation with Dean, who told him there was little point in his coming to Kenton Cove until the lodge was rebuilt and, now that cold weather was setting in there, work wouldn’t start until spring.
Disappointed but trying to put a positive face on the situation, Gideon had canceled his flights and was perusing the Maple Hill Mirror, trying to decide what to do with himself for the next seven or eight months.
The inn’s door burst open suddenly and he found himself surrounded by a group of wet-haired children smelling of chlorine and carrying damp towels. There were three girls and a boy, and not an adult in sight. Jackie had disappeared into an office at the back and hadn’t returned.
“Hi.” A pretty little blond girl about ten or eleven sat beside him. “You’re the senator, aren’t you?”
Gideon smiled politely, wondering where she’d gotten that information. “Well, I was. I’m not a senator anymore,” he said, folding down a corner of the paper. “You’re that kid that’s been to the swimming pool.”
She giggled. “How’d you know that?” Then remembering her wet hair and her obvious towel, she giggled again. “Oh, yeah. We have swimming lessons after school.”
Another little blonde, several years younger than the one next to him, stood with a scolding expression. “You’re not supposed to get naked with somebody unless you’re married to them.”
“Rachel!” A dark-haired child with large brown eyes whose age appeared to be somewhere between the other two came to sit on his other side. She looked mortified. “I’m sorry,” she said to Gideon. “My sister’s too little to understand about gossip and how you’re not supposed to believe it or pass it on.”
Oh, good. Even children knew he was the object of gossip and what it was all about. He folded the paper and put it on the low table in front of him.
“I’m not too little!” Rachel denied. “Mom said that Grandma said—”
“Grandma gossips!” the older sister interrupted her. “And Mom doesn’t want us to do that.” She turned to Gideon. “Our mom owns the inn.”
“Ah. You’re Mrs. Whitcomb’s children.”
“Her name’s Jackie,” Rachel informed him. “Our dad’s Hank. He’s our second one. The first one died.” She pointed her wet towel at the brunette. “That’s Erica, and that’s Ashley. She’s our friend.” She pointed to the young boy beside her. “This is Brian.”
“He’s my brother,” Ashley said.
“Only, he’s not really.” Rachel seemed to have a compulsion for detail. “His mom’s in jail, so Mariah and Cam adopted him. Everybody died in Ashley’s family.”
Erica rolled her eyes and groaned in dismay. “That’s private stuff!” she said to Rachel. “You don’t just blab it to everybody!”
Rachel