His Best Friend's Wife Page 9

  She was horrified with the direction her thoughts had taken. And she was beyond impressed with him. Horseback riding? She had no idea how he managed that, but seeing him like this: strong, competent and still so ridiculously handsome. She could easily picture him in the saddle. She was sure the image would still be on her mind when she fell asleep that night.

  “And that chair—” he angled his head in the direction of the wheelchair “—it cuts a pretty good rug. I danced with Isaac’s mother at her wedding, and I’m about to do it again with my middle girl, Emily. Still can’t do stairs, though.”

  She glanced at him sharply, found him laughing, maybe even at her expense. Well, she could hardly fault him for that. She hadn’t known what to say, and the reality was that she hadn’t had to say anything. Thomas still had the same quirky humor and zest for life he’d had when they were teenagers, when the shy, insecure wallflower she’d been then had secretly pined for the athlete, the leader of the pack and the best-looking boy in school. The first boy she had imagined herself being truly and deeply in love with.

  They pulled into a parking space in the lot next to the school.

  “Now it’s my turn to apologize,” he said before she could muster words of her own. “My daughter Annie, Isaac’s mom, gets after me for what she calls my ‘handicapped humor.’ Says it’s off-putting for a lot of people.”

  Libby shook her head. “Not at all,” she said, finally finding her voice. “I’m the one who should apologize. I do apologize. I’m so sorry. And now I really do have to get these things to my classroom before the bell rings. I’d offer to stay and help you out, but I can tell that’s not necessary.”

  “Thanks, and you’re right. I’ll see you inside.”

  She pushed the door open but before she could step out, Thomas took her hand. “It’s good to see you in Riverton, Libby. And good to see you looking so...good.”

  She flushed at the compliment, not sure what to make of it.

  “Thank you. You look good, too.”

  She gathered her things and hurried into the school, ridiculously pleased by the simple compliment while warning herself not to make more of it than it was. Back in high school, everyone had known everyone else. That was both the beauty and the curse of living in a small town. But like any high school, there had been the typical teenage hierarchy: the jocks who swaggered through the hallways and the gorgeous girls who cheered them on; the brainiacs who owned the honor roll and competed for debate trophies and SAT scores; the kids who struggled with school and sometimes life in general, spending the bulk of their time in detention, smoking cigarettes and drinking bootlegged beer behind the rec center every Friday night.

  In those days, Libby hadn’t fit into any of the groups. She had been painfully shy and unsure of herself, with no real friends and no idea how to make any. To make matters worse, she was the daughter of the school’s no-nonsense English teacher. Mable Potter had doled out top marks to the students who worked hard in her classes, and detentions and failing grades to those who sloughed off. For Libby, being in the first group had been the only option. Thomas had good-naturedly fit into the second, usually handing in assignments after half-heartedly finishing them in the detention hall.

  Now he was a family man, a grandfather, a war hero, a paraplegic. He had never done anything by half measures, and being in a wheelchair hadn’t changed that.

  * * *

  THOMAS WHEELED HIMSELF into the school and down the corridor to his grandson’s classroom. Only the second graders were hosting meet-the-parents’ day, but the whole school was abuzz with the extra energy. A group of mostly moms milled in the hallway outside the door to the classroom, but the crowd parted to let him through. In many ways, the wheelchair was like a free pass, and it was one he didn’t like to overuse.

  “Good morning, ladies.” He knew many of these young mothers because his daughters had grown up with them.

  “Hello, Mr. Finnegan.”

  “Good to see you.”

  “Where’s Annie this morning?”

  “She’s coming down with a cold,” he told them. Not surprising, either, given how much time she spent with Rose. He understood Annie’s need to take care of everyone around her, but it when it came to that young woman, he wished his eldest daughter shared her younger sisters’ innate reluctance to put too much trust in their long-lost half sister.

  Inside the classroom, the desks had been rearranged to make room for extra seating. Three little girls hovered around Libby, listening eagerly to the instructions she was giving them. Four boys, Isaac among them, were kibitzing at the opposite end of the room. Boys will be boys, Thomas thought.

  Many times over the years, he had wondered what it would have been like to raise a son. Not that he ever would have traded his three beautiful daughters for all the sons in the world. They had been the center of his life even before their mother had walked out on them. Only when Isaac was born had he acknowledged—privately, of course—that a deep-seated need had been filled. He watched Isaac now, with his mother’s stunning good looks and his father’s passion for life, and felt the kind of love that accompanies a deeply rooted sense of kinship.

  Across the classroom, Libby turned away from her cluster of students and locked gazes with him. Then she smiled and walked toward him.

  “Thank you again for the lift, Thomas. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Don’t even mention it. Anytime you need a hand with anything, let me know. As long as it’s not changing a tire.”

  This time his offbeat humor made her laugh. “I’m guessing you’d figure out a way to change a tire if you had to.”

  “Like making a call to Triple A.”

  This time they laughed together. He liked that she was comfortable having this conversation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation with an attractive woman. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since he’d found any woman attractive. Libby Potter—the shy, awkward girl he’d gone to school with but had really only known as the English teacher’s daughter—had matured into a graceful, elegant woman. She wore her hair—the same shade of chestnut with subtle hints of auburn—in a no-nonsense bob that suited her face and gave her a youthful appearance. Moments ago, he had watched her slip off her suit jacket and drape it over the back of her chair at the front of the classroom. Now she stood there in a red skirt and sleeveless beige top that were both classy and appropriate for a second-grade classroom, and still managed to cause a hitch in his breathing.

  And there’s no fool like an old fool, he reminded himself. Women felt many things for a man in a chair—pity, indifference, sometimes even resentment—but never attraction. No. His heartthrob days ended the day the earth had exploded around him, beneath him, within him.

  He picked up the Tupperware container resting on his lap and handed it to Libby.

  “Annie baked a batch of oatmeal-raisin cookies. And she sends her regrets, of course.”

  “We all thank her for these,” Libby said, accepting the contribution. “Isaac says his mom is the best cook in the world.”

  “Well, now, he has that right. Annie feeds us well.”

  “After school started, she invited me and my mother to Sunday dinner. That was very generous of her, but we would hate to impose.”

  Thomas felt himself brighten. “Feeding family and friends is never an imposition. You should come. My daughter Emily and her fiancé, Jack Evans, always join us. I know Emily and your mother have formed a special friendship.”

  Libby laughed. “That they have. Before I was able to move home, knowing Emily was checking in on my mother was a godsend.”

  Isaac tugged on his forearm. “Gramps, move your wheelchair over here where the parents are sitting. Me and my friends cleared a space for you.”

  Libby smoothed a hand over the boy’s head. “That was a really good id
ea, Isaac. Thank you for doing that.” Suddenly all business, she clapped her hands twice and called out, “Children. Can I have your attention, please?”

  The energized buzz in the room quieted to a low hum as the students quickly turned their full attention to their teacher.

  “Welcome, parents. And grandparents,” she added with a smile. “Thank you for joining us this morning. Your children and I want to welcome you to the second grade at Riverton Elementary. Please take a seat.” She waved at the double row of primary-school-size chairs arranged in a semicircle at the rear of the classroom.

  As mothers laughingly settled themselves onto the too-small chairs, Thomas rolled into the space that had been readied for him at the end of the row. For the next thirty minutes, he and the other adults were entertained by a science experiment that created weather in a mason jar, an art exhibit of boldly colored finger paintings, an explanation of how a terrarium works, the introduction of Sampson, the classroom’s guinea pig, and finally a song about greasy, grimy gopher guts. If anyone besides Thomas thought the song choice juxtaposed with the class rodent was a bit on the maudlin side, they didn’t let on.

  After a few words from Libby, it was time for refreshments and the classroom was once again abuzz with adult conversation intermingled with high-pitched children’s voices. At the sound of the recess bell, the children cleared out, leaving the grownups to have a few final words with one another and Ms. Potter.

  Thomas watched her move from one group of mothers to another, then realized she was making her way toward him.

  “It’s been so good to see you again, Thomas. It’s been a long time.”

  “It has.” Too long, he decided. “I hope you’ll accept Annie’s invitation to dinner.” He meant it. He’d like to see her again. To be honest, he’d rather spend time with her alone. But he had no idea how a guy his age, and in a wheelchair, no less, asked a woman like Libby out on a date. What was the point? She would only say no. Dinner with the family was safer. “It’ll be good to catch up.”

  “I’d like that.” And in spite of her lightly applied makeup, he could see she was blushing.

  Huh. Maybe he’d work up to that date, after all. It’s not like he and Libby were teenagers, and it didn’t have to be a date date. He could invite her to meet him for coffee somewhere—neutral territory—and see where that took them. He already knew where he wanted it to go. Coffee, and just the two of them, would give him a chance to figure out if she was willing to go along for the ride.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AFTER SPENDING an entire week recuperating from a cold—and now convinced she had caught the bug from Rose—Annie saw Isaac safely onto the school bus on Monday morning and pulled her shopping list from beneath a magnet on the fridge. She skimmed the page to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, added “chicken feed” and tucked it into her handbag. She had been up early and baked a batch of lemon-cranberry muffins—Paul’s favorite. But then he’d texted to say he wouldn’t make it out to the farm that morning.

  Taking the early shift at the clinic. Should be able to make it tomorrow. Paul.

  Feeling disappointed didn’t make sense, but that didn’t stop her from feeling it.

  “Dad?” she called down the hallway. After breakfast he always spent an hour or so in his room, checking email and reading online news reports. “I’m going into town to run errands. CJ’s at the stable and has her phone with her if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine, Annie.”

  Of course he would. Monday was her errand day and she always spent the morning in town, and everything at the farm was always fine when she returned. “I’ll be back in time to make lunch.”

  Thomas appeared in the doorway of his room. “Why don’t you treat yourself to lunch in town?”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t.” She really shouldn’t. “I don’t have anything ready for you and CJ.”

  “That kitchen is full of food, and Cassie Jo and I are quite capable of putting some of it on a plate. You should get together with one of your friends. Maybe that young Woodward fellow is free.”

  “Really, Dad?” Bad enough her sisters were practically tripping over themselves to push her and Paul together, but now her father was in on it? His expression of mock innocence made her laugh out loud. “I am not asking Paul to have lunch with me.”

  “What about Emily? You could have lunch with her, talk about wedding plans.”

  That was actually a good idea. If she had thought of it sooner, she would have left something ready for her father and her sister.

  “Call Emily. CJ and I will make ourselves sandwiches,” he said as though he was reading her thoughts.

  “Fine. I’ll call Emily. There’s a fresh loaf of bread in the pantry, ham and cheese in the...”

  But her father had returned to his room and quietly closed the door and she was left talking to herself. He was right. They could take care of themselves and she did deserve to treat herself to lunch out. On her way out to the car, she dialed Emily’s number before she changed her mind.

  * * *

  PAUL’S DECISION TO take the early shift at the clinic had an upside: his father. Geoff was reasonably cheerful after a good night’s sleep and a breakfast of soft-boiled eggs and wheat toast cut into soldiers—buttered, crusts removed, and cut into fingers. This was a throwback to his childhood, having been brought up by a British mother whose rigid ways had extended all the way to her stiff upper lip. As a child, Paul had seen very little of his paternal grandmother and hadn’t liked her much when he did.

  The downside of the early shift was not starting his day over coffee in Annie’s kitchen. For the past week, she hadn’t been feeling well and he had used that as a reason to check in on her. Those meetings were fast becoming the favorite part of his daily routine.

  By eleven o’clock, he was updating the last patient’s chart when his cell phone buzzed.

  Can I buy my best man lunch? Riverton Bar & Grill, 12:30? Jack.

  Paul was more than ready to take a break and the timing was perfect because it gave him a chance to drop by the house to check on his father and fix him some lunch. Paul could have the old man fed and settled into his recliner for an afternoon of TV talk shows and intermittent naps and still have time to meet his friend at the appointed time.

  Best offer I’ve had all morning. See you there. Paul.

  A better offer would have been lunch with Annie but she would never agree. According to her, they were still “just friends.” Meeting him at the café would seem too much like a date, and that wasn’t going to happen. At least not anytime soon.

  * * *

  ANNIE’S LAST STOP of the morning was Henderson’s Hardware. She had just enough time to pick up the remaining items on her list and load them into her station wagon before she met Emily for lunch at the Riverton Bar & Grill. She pushed her cart along the aisles, tossing in boxes of lids for her canning jars, a package of lightbulbs, a roll of duct tape for her father, ticking items off her list as she went. What was it with men and duct tape? Her father claimed he could fix anything with a pocketknife and a roll of tape. She briefly considered buying a roll with the cupcake print—he was not a fan of cupcakes, saying he didn’t understand why anyone would settle for a small cake when they could have a large one—but she decided he was unlikely to see the humor in it, so settled for the original gray instead. She dragged bags of dog chow and chicken feed onto the bottom of her cart, finally picking up the new push broom CJ had requested for the stable.

  Mel and Marjorie Henderson were waiting for her behind the counter. Mel and his wife had taken over the store from his father, and now their son managed the lumberyard and their two grandsons worked as stock boys on weekends.

  “Annie, it’s so good to see you,” Marjorie said, ringing in items and adding them to Annie’s canvas shopping bag. “How’s every
thing at Finnegan Farm these days?”

  “Good. Busy, of course, with Emily’s wedding coming up in a few weeks.”

  “That’s right. We heard all about it the last time your father was in with Isaac. Leave those bags of feed on the cart,” Marjorie said. “Mel can load them in your car. What a handsome little boy you have there. The spitting image of his father. Oh. Oh, dear, I hope you don’t mind me saying that, after what happened to your husband.”

  “Not at all. We talk about Eric all the time.” Annie did her best to muster a reassuring smile but she was actually remembering something her father had once said about Marjorie, “That woman could talk the hind leg off a mule.”

  Mel stepped around the counter and loaded Annie’s shopping bag into the cart. “Isaac took a real shine to Izzie’s puppies when he was here.”

  “He hasn’t stopped talking about them since he saw them.” Annie had been doing her best to ignore the enclosure behind the counter, where a black-and-white border collie was sprawled with her puppies on a red plaid blanket. She looked at them now and tried to harden her heart. One of the pups had woken up and was stumbling across its litter mates. “He’s desperate to have one, but I don’t know. Puppies need a lot of attention and I’m afraid I don’t have the time to devote to training one right now.”

  Annie paid for her purchases and dropped her wallet back into her handbag.

  Mel swung the cart toward the door, then paused. “If your boy really wants a dog and you don’t want a puppy, then we just might have a solution for you.”

  “You do?”

  “One of the pups from Izzie’s litter last year was adopted by a family here in town. Unfortunately, their toddler has developed an allergy to pet dander and they can’t keep him. He’s housebroken, knows basic commands. Sit, stay, that sort of thing. And he’s looking for a new home.”