Chapter One The old man pinned Mary Sweeney with a solemn look over the rim of his glasses.
“Rob Fallon’s back in town.”
Bands of steel tightened around Mary’s chest. Rob Fallon back in Timberlake? Her worst fear had come true.
She took several steadying breaths. “Are you sure, Vinnie?” She hardly recognized her own voice.
Vinnie Byers spat the toothpick he was chewing into the rose bed and brought his gaze on a level with hers. For a long moment he said nothing. With chubby fingers, he made pumping motions on the brake levers attached to his bicycle handlebars.
“Why would I bother to tell ya, if’n I weren’t sure? It was him, all right. 'Cept he might be down on his luck some. That weren’t no fancy new truck he was drivin’.”
The old man raked a freckled hand through his thinning hair. A frown darkened the pink-splotched forehead as he shot her a pointed look. His expression spoke volumes. “I expect he’ll be payin’ Mrs. Fallon a call afore long. Be best if ya don’t let him sweet talk ya out of anything.” The pale eyes riveted her with an unasked question.
Heat prickled her cheeks. Vinnie turned the wheel of his battered Raleigh toward the street, settled his ample posterior on the impossibly narrow seat, and headed down the driveway. “Be seein’ ya, Mary,” he hollered from the intersection.
Mary’s gaze followed the old man until he’d swerved onto Grove Street. She squeezed her hands into fists. How much did Vinnie know? Damn. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind.
She bent to retrieve the flat-bottomed wicker basket at her feet, then lay her garden shears alongside the pale cream-colored roses she’d cut. On shaky legs, she propelled herself through the side gate and along the gravel path to the back door.
Why would Rob come back now?
The question nagged at her like a bad tooth. She tramped to the pine trestle table, lowered herself onto a kitchen chair, and stared at the freshly painted wall.
She never imagined Rob Fallon would return. Nine years it had been. With his father dead and his grandmother so frail, there was nothing here for him now--certainly no money.
But Rob wouldn’t know that. When he’d left, there’d been pots of it.
Her mind churned. Was that it? Had he come back to get money from Mrs. Fallon? She cast a surreptitious glance toward her elderly employer on the back porch.
Enveloped in a ruffled lavender wrapper, the old woman sat in the porch swing, a portable desk in her lap, her head bent over a snowy sheet of stationery. Her gold-trimmed Waterman scratched out a note in what Mary knew was her thin, spidery hand.
The old woman wrote to everyone. Everyone except Rob. For both Mary and Mrs. Fallon, Rob had ceased to exist.
Until today.
Mary swallowed. Could she stop him from seeing Mrs. Fallon? Stop him from upsetting her? No, she could not. He was the woman’s only living relative; she was simply an employee.
She pushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes and rose to her feet. You thought you’d get over him, didn’t you? But the idea of seeing him again....
A shiver traveled up her spine. Seeing him again would remind her of things best forgotten.
Face the truth, Mary. It’s Rob himself who disturbs you. He’d played the charming, sweet-talking deceiver with half the girls in Timberlake. But not her! Except for that one night, Rob had never even given her an interested glance.
A pain darted through her chest. She was plain. Rob went for the pretty ones. Girls like Valerie Rushmore, whose father owned Golden State Savings.
Mary had been quiet. Too quiet. She never knew what to say to girls who had families and friends. Nobody had ever paid her the slightest mind, even though she’d been a top student. She was an outsider.
She propped her chin in one hand and tried to gather her thoughts.Mrs. Fallon had every right to see her only grandson; after all, Rob was the Fallon heir.
Her heart thumped. Would he remember her? Would he recall that night in the garden?
She clattered the tea kettle on the burner and began preparations for lunch. “Relax, Mary Kate,” she said aloud. “Maybe he’s just passing through.”
Her mind sifted through a myriad of other possibilities as she cut four even slices from a crusty French loaf for sandwiches. She plopped a spoonful of chicken salad on one.
She didn’t want to see Rob. Not today, not ever.
“You’re a coward,” she muttered. She slapped a lettuce leaf on the sandwich filling and topped it with a second bread slice.
Since when do you run from trouble?
Her throat closed over a golf ball-sized lump. She should have better control over her emotions. She was twenty-seven, now, not eighteen; she’d had a third of her lifetime to get over Rob Fallon.
Her head swam as she remembered his musky scent, laced with the Chivas Regal he favored. No other man since Rob had made her feel so...alive. It was as if he’d peeled away the layers to expose her true self. Now, he was here in Timberlake.
Mary glanced up at the wall clock. Only ten-forty-five--too early for lunch. A quick glance to the porch revealed Mrs. Fallon dozing in the redwood swing, her head pressed against the green-striped cushion, her fingers still clutching the fountain pen.
She covered the sandwiches with plastic wrap, set the plate in the refrigerator, and marched into the study to telephone Marvin Beamish, the town’s only licensed plumbing contractor. In just three weeks Fallon House would open as Timberlake’s first historic bed and breakfast.
But only if they added a new bathroom and modernized the existing one.
She punched Marvin’s telephone number. She’d think about Rob Fallon later;the out-of-date bathrooms at Fallon House could not wait.
“Nancy, is Marvin there?”
“Nah,” the bookkeeper drawled in her nasal voice. “He’s down to his brother’s...be back later. Anything in particular you wanted?”
“It’s about the bathroom remodel. I need him to start the job this week.”
A long silence hung over the line, broken by a loud popping sound. Finally, Nancy came back on. “Uh, Marv’s out of the office--got a big job on some condos over at Clear Lake. I don’t think he’s gonna have time for your bathrooms, hon.” She popped her gum in Mary’s ear.
Mary’s fingers tightened around the phone cord. Not have time? Marv had promised to come the minute she called.
If the bathrooms weren’t finished, the county would block them from opening. All their advertising would be wasted, not to mention the loss of income and-- She should have scheduled the work earlier, borrowed the money. Done something.
She paused mid-thought. Now was not the time to panic.
She spoke evenly into the mouthpiece. “Just have Marv give me a call, okay?”
“Sure, hon.”
Mary set the receiver in its cradle. Nancy liked to chatter, but it was Marvin she had to talk to, and fast. Her stomach churned as she made her way down the long hall and into her office. Once the music room, it now housed a tall oak file cabinet, a refectory table on which sat her typewriter, several Sunset how-to books and a dozen scribbled pages scattered helter-skelter. Her linen catalogs were tumbled on top of each other on the Persian rug.
What in the world! Mary’s jaw tightened. The disarray bore the earmarks of Zeke the cat. She scanned the room.
The sleek black form was casually draped over the back of a club chair by the window. Eyes half closed, tail twitching ever so slightly, he watched a red-breasted robin on the grass outside.
“Bad cat,” she admonished, giving the unconcerned lounger a stern look. It had been love at first sight for Zeke and Mrs. Fallon. The feline had immediately taken over the house and ingratiated himself into the old woman’s bed each night. Mary, on the other hand, found herself tolerated only because she doled out his dinner.
Right now she didn’t have time to straighten the mess. She had to find a plumbing contractor. The entire house gleamed with paint and polish, ready for their grand opening just three weeks away. Everything was ready except those two bathrooms.
A knock resonated against the front door. Mary sucked in a deep breath, then glanced at the clock on the table. Ten past twelve. Maybe Marv had finished early and come on over.
She stepped into the hall and made her way toward the foyer, breathing a relieved sigh. If he could start on the bathrooms today, Fallon House would open for business on schedule.
At the doorway, she unlocked the brass bolt, opened the beveled glass a fraction, and gasped.
Rob Fallon’s lean form blocked the sunlight.
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