His Best Friend's Wife Read online

  “Oh. Paul, of course. Have you heard? He’s back in Riverton now.”

  The sound of CJ’s footsteps on the back veranda saved Annie from having to answer. For once, her little sister’s timing was impeccable.

  CHAPTER SIX

  PAUL ARRIVED AT the clinic in time to see his first patient of the morning and to find out the next two had called to cancel. Feeling at loose ends, and not wanting to return to the house to hear his father’s newest complaints, he fired off a quick text message to Jack.

  Morning schedule has been cleared. Any chance you have time for coffee?

  His friend’s response arrived a moment later.

  Sure do. Meet you at the café.

  Café was shorthand for the Riverton Bar & Grill. As he pulled out of the clinic parking lot and drove downtown, he considered all of the positive aspects of living in his hometown. He hadn’t expected there to be so many, he thought, as he passed the old town hall that was now home to the library and county museum, the Big River Theater, Baxter’s Pharmacy and Henderson’s Hardware before he angled into a parking space in front of Morris’s Barbershop.

  Initially he had balked at the idea of having to take care of his father. The old man had always been difficult to live with but his forgetfulness had made him surprisingly easy to manage. He still tested Paul’s patience, although in a different way.

  Paul had also worried about seeing Annie again, about having her nearby and yet completely out of reach. This morning’s coffee date now topped the list of pluses. Getting together with his long-time friend Jack was a close second.

  He stepped out of his car and crossed the street to the Riverton Bar & Grill. This was one of those timeless places that never seemed to change. Not even after the name had changed from the Riverton Café and the menu had been updated to include salads made with organic greens—no one called it lettuce anymore—and topped with things like dried cranberries and candied pecans. He was pretty sure dried cranberries hadn’t even been invented when he was a kid.

  Jack was already there and sitting in a booth near the window. Paul slid onto the opposite bench. They bumped fists across the table.

  Jack already had a cup of coffee in front of him. “Good to see you,” he said. “All settled in?”

  “Pretty much, thanks. How are things with you?” Strangely enough, he and Jack were both living in their childhood homes. They had kept in touch but seldom saw one another while they’d both been living and working in Chicago. Paul expected that to change now that they were here.

  “The new job’s keeping me on my toes,” Jack said.

  “So...you’ve taken up ballet.”

  His friend laughed. “Feels like it some days.”

  “How’s Emily?”

  “Amazing, brilliant, stubborn. She’s got this book deal, the blog, her job at the Gazette. I keep saying she should slow down, take things easy.” Jack shrugged.

  “How far along is she?”

  “Five and a half months, give or take.”

  Since they knew exactly when this baby was conceived—the night of Eric’s funeral—there wasn’t much giving or taking. Paul figured it would be wise to keep that observation to himself.

  “Does she still have her own apartment?”

  “Until the wedding, she does. Annie suggested she move out to the farm, take some of the pressure off, but she likes being in town, where she’s close to the office. Did I mention stubborn?”

  “You’d almost think she was a Finnegan sister.” Paul glanced around, hoping to catch the eye of a server. “What does a guy have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?”

  Jack waved at the waitress, who was engaged in a conversation with a customer who was sitting on a stool. “Rose? Could we get another coffee here, please?”

  She shot him a look before she slowly reached for the coffeepot.

  “Is that the Finnegans’ other sister? The half sister?” Paul asked, although he already knew the answer to his question.

  “Yes, that’s Rose Daniels. How did you know?”

  “Just a guess,” he said, wishing he hadn’t let that slip.

  Jack appeared to consider that. “Or maybe you’ve already met her? Treated her at the clinic?”

  “That I can’t say.”

  “I get it. Doctor-patent confidentiality. Rose has a nasty cough. Annie and Emily both told her she needed to see a doctor. I’m hoping maybe she took their advice, for once.”

  Paul shrugged. “You know I can’t discuss patients.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Rose appeared and set a cup of coffee on the table. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Thanks but no, this is good.”

  She looked from Paul to Jack and back to Paul. “You’re the doctor I saw at the clinic.”

  The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched.

  “I am. How are you, Rose?”

  “Good.” She coughed into her elbow. “I’m taking the meds but I still haven’t shaken this cold.”

  “These things take time.” It had only been twenty-four hours. If he had to guess, she hadn’t shaken the booze and cigarettes, either.

  “If you change your mind and feel like ordering something, let me know. I’m off shift in a few minutes, though.” She skewered Jack with a defiant glare. “I’ve been invited out to the farm to have coffee with my sisters.”

  She swung around and as she walked to the counter, Paul was struck by how thin she was. She was dressed completely in black. Ridiculously skinny jeans, a lacy, long-sleeved top, over-the-knee, suede boots. Far from a small-town waitress’s typical attire.

  “Interesting,” Paul said.

  “It wasn’t Emily who invited her, I can tell you that much.”

  “And I take it you’re not one of her favorite people,” Paul said.

  “Not even a little bit.” Jack’s smile suggested that he didn’t care one little bit, either. “She likes you, though.”

  “I’m inclined to go with indifference. She seems far more interested in the guy sitting at the counter.”

  Jack glanced over his shoulder. “She’s attracted a following among the young guys in town. I have no idea who that is.” Jack picked up his cup, took a drink. “Speaking of interesting, how’s Annie? I hear she had to take Isaac to the clinic yesterday.” Jack flashed him a wicked grin.

  “She did, and I went out to the farm for coffee earlier this morning. She invited me out for coffee.” And he had kissed her. Accidentally, but still, his lips had touched her lips and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

  “I think it’s great, you and Annie.”

  “There’s no ‘me and Annie.’ We’re friends.” Just friends, according to her.

  “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to give you a hard time, but we—Emily and I—think it’s good for Annie to have someone, namely you, in her life right now. We’re worried about her. She works all the time. Be good to see her have some fun once in a while.”

  “And I’m...fun?”

  They both laughed. “Maybe I should have said she needs a distraction.”

  Paul wasn’t so sure he wanted to be anyone’s fun distraction. He wanted his friendship with Annie to be deeper than that, but talking about it wasn’t going to make it so. “We’re just friends,” he said. “What’s new with you and Emily?”

  “Well, I’ve finally convinced her to set a date—the last weekend of September—and I imagine that’ll be the sole topic of conversation when the Finnegan sisters convene over coffee this morning.”

  The young man who’d been sitting at the counter talking to Rose checked his watch, then abruptly jumped up and left as though he was late for something. Rose immediately took out her phone and started tapping away.

  “And the groom’s p
art in all of these wedding plans?” Paul asked.

  “We’d be married by now if I’d had anything to say about it. But we’ve talked about the details and we’re both on the same page. Family and friends at a small ceremony and reception at the farm, nothing fancy.”

  Paul pushed aside his envy. “And the best man’s role in all of this? I take it I’m throwing the stag?”

  Jack shook his head. “Emily is saying no to stags, stagettes and couples showers.”

  “Gee, missing out on a couples shower has to be disappointing.”

  Jack laughed. “Yeah, right. I’m still busy with work and to be honest, when I do have a free evening, I want to spend it with Emily.”

  Paul ignored another stab of envy. Just because he was alone didn’t mean he begrudged his friend’s happiness, or the fact that he was actually marrying one of the Finnegan sisters.

  “I hear you,” he said instead. “How’s Emily feeling these days?”

  “She’s feeling great and Dr. Cameron says the baby is doing well, too.”

  “Glad to hear it. Emily’s in good hands. Alyssa Cameron has a lot of maternity experience.”

  “We were kind of hoping she could be your patient.”

  Paul shook his head. “I wouldn’t be comfortable with that. We’ve been friends for so long, we’re practically family.”

  “I get it,” Jack said. “We both do.”

  The door opened and a man walked in. He looked vaguely familiar to Paul, and he waved at Jack, which meant he probably was, and then he strode up to the counter to talk to Rose. Right away her eyes lit up, as much as they had when she’d been chatting with the previous guy.

  “That’s Emily’s friend, Fred Morris,” Jack said. “Remember him?”

  “Right, right. From the barbershop. I thought I recognized him.”

  “That’s right. For reasons no one can figure out, Fred has a thing for Rose. And for reasons that are blatantly obvious, she tolerates him because he’ll do favors for her. It makes Emily a little crazy.”

  “Isn’t he a little old for her?”

  Jack quirked an eyebrow. “And a little on the buttoned-down side to be hanging around with someone who dresses like a vampire.”

  Paul watched the interaction between the two. He considered himself a good judge of character and from what he could see, Fred had it bad.

  “Emily and CJ don’t trust this newfound half sister of theirs,” Jack said. “I’ll confess that I had the green-monster thing going on when Em first got so overprotective of Fred, but now I think she’s right.”

  Paul lowered his voice. “How do you feel about the newest addition to the Finnegan clan?”

  “I don’t trust her, either. To say she had a troubled childhood is a gross understatement. She has the poor-me attitude down pat, and some people—single young guys in particular—seem to fall for it.”

  “People like Fred.”

  Jack nodded. “And then there’s Annie. She won’t listen to anything negative when it comes to Rose. Says that after everything this poor kid’s been through, everyone should cut her some slack.”

  “What do you think?” Paul knew there were things Jack, as police chief, couldn’t tell him, but as the young woman’s future brother-in-law, he could talk about the family connection.

  “I think Rose has a drinking problem. A serious one.”

  Based on Paul’s own assessment, he completely agreed. He just couldn’t say so.

  “There’s no question that she knows how to play the sympathy card, but I think the kid also has a self-destructive streak.”

  “You mean suicidal?” Paul certainly hadn’t picked up on that.

  “No, more like reckless abandon. For one thing, she thinks nothing of drinking and driving.”

  “Has she been pulled over?”

  “She has. Last time she sweet-talked one of my rookies into letting her go without a Breathalyzer.”

  “That’s manipulative, all right.”

  Jack glanced at her across the restaurant. “She’d better watch herself. I’ve had a talk with my staff about this. Next time she won’t get off so easy.”

  Paul watched Fred fish a set of keys out of his pocket and hand them to the young woman. She waved goodbye to the other waitress, who had just stepped out of the kitchen, then walked around the counter with a black messenger bag slung over her shoulder, dropped the keys into it and gave Fred a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

  “You’re a doll,” she said to him. “I’ll have your car back by the time you close up shop this afternoon.”

  Sporting an ear-to-ear grin, Fred strolled toward the door with her. “If you’d like, I can take a look at your car tonight,” he said. “See if I can figure out why it won’t start.” They walked out before Paul could hear Rose’s reply.

  He picked up his cup and drained it. “I see what you mean.”

  While he had known who Rose was when he treated her, he had not realized how invested Annie was in this young woman’s life. He was concerned about Rose as a patient, that was his job. But Annie was something else. She had an inherent goodness and she cared about everyone around her, especially family. Paul could accept that she saw him as “just a friend,” even though his feelings for her ran a lot deeper. Heaven help anyone who intentionally set out to take advantage of her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ANNIE WAS STILL contemplating the intricacies of Emily’s hand-me-down camera when CJ burst through the French doors and into the kitchen, filling the space with her energy.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m starving and it smells so good in here.” She shrugged out of her brown barn jacket and tossed it on the bench by the door. Her long, blond hair was pulled into a high ponytail, as was customary when she was giving riding lessons. She wore a scoop-necked yellow T-shirt with faded, form-fitting jeans tucked into black riding boots. She ogled the muffins. “Are those carrot-pineapple?”

  “They are.”

  “With cream-cheese frosting?”

  “Of course.”

  “I thought you were making lemon-cranberry muffins this morning.”

  “I did.”

  “Two batches of muffins in one morning?”

  Annie watched her sisters exchange a look. Here we go.

  “Did something happen?” Emily asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “Of course not. Why would you ask?”

  CJ had already bitten into a carrot-pineapple muffin and was swiping frosting off her lips with her tongue, but that didn’t stop her from talking. “Because you were making muffins before I went out to the stable this morning. Since you didn’t stop baking, it’s a sure sign something’s wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Which was technically not a lie.

  Emily started on her second muffin. “All right then, what’s bothering you? Are you still worried about Isaac?”

  “No, not at all. Isaac’s fine. He spent most of the morning with CJ’s therapeutic riding group, then he was going into town with Dad. They’ve probably left already. I think he’s hoping his grandfather plans to stop at the hardware store.”

  “Still has his eye on one of those puppies, does he?”

  “He does.”

  Relieved to have the conversation steered away from her baking spree, Annie poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter to CJ’s customary place at the island.

  “How was your class this morning?”

  “Good. Really good, actually. Remember me telling you about Monica Cooper, the little girl with spina bifida? Her mom brings her from Wabasha every Saturday?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Well, she’s been doing great all summer. Her mom’s been bringing her twice a week—every Saturday for the group class and every Wednesday afternoon for a privat
e session. She’s my first student with spina bifida so I’ve been doing a lot of reading on this condition.”

  Annie watched CJ’s eyes light up with enthusiasm. Her two younger sisters were so dedicated to their chosen careers, and so accomplished. Earlier in the summer, Emily had been approached by a major New York publisher, inviting her to turn her blog into a book. She had even appeared on a national television talk show and people were saying she was the next Garrison Keillor.

  CJ had segued her lifelong love of horses into a thriving business. Here at Finnegan Farm, she bred and boarded horses, taught riding lessons—one of her former students had recently qualified for the national equestrian team—and operated one of the most successful therapeutic riding programs in the state, possibly even the country. Annie watched her now, as she talked about her young student, and felt a stab of envy. Would she ever feel this excited about something?

  Since losing her husband, Annie felt as though she was making her way through familiar territory after a dense fog had settled in. She used to love running the bed-and-breakfast. Now she practically cringed every time the phone rang or another email reservation came in. She had always loved cooking, and especially baking. Everyone in town said her apple strudel was legendary. Yet this morning, as she had prepared one batch of muffins after another, her baking frenzy had been more compulsion than joy. Something was missing from her life. Eric was gone, of course, but it was more than that. She had no direction, no purpose—if she had ever really had one—and she had no idea how to find it.

  The truth was that she had always done what was expected of her, required of her, even demanded of her, but she had never simply done what she wanted. She had been living up to everyone else’s expectations for so long, she wasn’t sure she had any of her own.

  In the months since Eric’s death, her family and friends had urged her to take time to grieve, to talk about her feelings. Until this morning, she had steadfastly denied the need to do that. Paul had changed her view. He had made her want to open up, but he was the last person she should be turning to. And the very last person she should be kissing.