Second To None

She went up to the loft, turning on more lights as she went through the living room and the kitchen.

What she was most anxious to be rid of, she thought as she placed her purse on the counter and put on the kettle, was the silence. When it closed in on her—as it did now after a busy day filled with people—it reminded her of how alone she was.

When this place is filled with children all day, she told herself, you’ll be very grateful for this silence.

But that was little comfort. Silence after a day spent with children was very different from the silence that lived with you day after day when you had no one else. And the few hours spent in the noisy company of the Delanceys brought that home sharply.

She should be grateful she hadn’t had a sibling who’d had to endure what she’d been through as a child. But selfishly, she’d often wished she’d had the company. It would be nice, now that she could come and go as she pleased, to have someone to visit, to make plans and talk over problems with.

She’d had good friends within the order, but she’d left that life behind. She corresponded with some of them, but it wasn’t the same as having them nearby. And Colette, her first friend in French River, would leave tomorrow night for several weeks in Canada.

She grabbed one of her two mugs, found a tea bag and waited for the water to boil. She went to the window that looked down on the slope behind the barn, and saw herself reflected back.

She told herself she would be fine. She’d been alone in one way or another for much of her thirty years, and she’d survived. She just didn’t like it. But life was about learning to cope with what you got, not about getting what you wanted. And pretty soon her life was going to be filled with children. Step Three—friends—was accomplished, and she’d only been in French River a couple of weeks. What more could she want?

She smiled at her reflection, but chose not to think about it. She didn’t want to be greedy.

The kettle whistled, and she filled the waiting mug with hot water. Then she turned off the light, walked into the bedroom—and stopped in the doorway.

Someone had tossed her sleeping bag and pillow onto a double bed already covered with a pink-and-green flowered bedspread. It was a four-poster with large, rounded knobs in a light mush—pine, she guessed.

She approached it slowly, shocked, wondering where it had come from. Colette? But why? She’d done so much for Veronica already.

And then a memory from earlier in the evening struck her like a sledgehammer, and she delved into her pocket for the business card Mike had given her.

“Bob Burgess Furniture and Appliances,” she read aloud into the ringing silence.

After staring at the bed another moment, she climbed into the middle of it and sat down. The mattress was soft and cupped her body. With a sigh of pleasure, she let her head fall back against equally soft pillows.

Every muscle in her body seemed to loosen. But every nerve ending fluttered in confusion.

Mike Delancey had bought her...a bed?

CHAPTER FOUR

IN THE VESTIBULE of the church, Veronica adjusted Colette’s hat to a jaunty angle and stepped back to study the effect. “What do you think?” she asked Megan and Katie, who pressed close, little baskets of daisies and ivy in hand.

“I think she’s the prettiest mother in the whole world.” Katie said.

“I must agree with that.” Armand came from the men’s dressing room, fussing with the unfamiliar tie. His wiry gray hair was combed into order, and the morning coat gave him a handsome elegance.

Colette handed Veronica her bouquet of roses and orchids and reached up to adjust his tie for him.

Katie and Megan trembled with excitement, taking every opportunity to swish the long skirts of their yellow dresses and to look for their reflections in the glass doors of the church. Their beautifully curled and upswept hair made them look like an ad for a children’s shampoo.

Colette wrapped her arms around them, then urged them into position as Shea arrived to walk Rachel up the aisle.

“You ready?” Colette whispered to Veronica. She looked absolutely beautiful and remarkably serene, considering she was about to make a life-altering vow.

“Yes.” Veronica moved to stand behind Megan.

She put a hand to her fluttering stomach, thinking she was probably more nervous than Colette. Being in a church was certainly familiar and comfortable, but she’d never worn a dress like this to a house of worship before.

She felt as though something life-altering was about to happen to her.

She turned to Colette, who was now behind her, her arm tucked into Armand’s. “Did you give me a bed?” she asked quietly.

Colette looked at her through her chin-length veil. “Pardon me?”

“A bed.” Veronica kept her eye on the front of the church, where Shea was just seating Rachel in the first pew. Then she glanced quickly at Colette. “When I got home last night, there was a bed in my bedroom.”

Armand raised an eyebrow. “And that is odd?”

Colette nodded. “Yes, Dad. She didn’t have one.” Then to Veronica, she replied, “No, I didn’t give you a bed. You mean, a new one?”

“Yes. The mattress and box spring are still wrapped in plastic, and there was a bedspread thrown over them.”

Colette giggled. “Did you pray for one? With your connections—”

The opening bars of the wedding processional began with loud, commanding drama, effectively putting an end to conversation. Colette shrugged, then winked.

Veronica faced forward as Katie, well coached on when to start, set off at a stately pace. Megan followed, the length of seven pews left between her and Katie.

Veronica counted pews and decided she was not going to walk up the aisle thinking about the bed. This was her friend’s wedding and it required her full attention.

When Megan reached the seventh pew, Veronica followed, focusing on the front of the church where the minister and the Delancey brothers waited.

Despite her promise to herself, she was temporarily distracted by the handsome picture the brothers made, shoulder to shoulder, family resemblance evident though three distinct personalities were also visible—elegant Tate, tough Mike, witty Shea.

“Tough Mike” who’d helped her move, found her first two clients and bought her a bed.

Veronica returned the smiles of the small group of wedding guests as she continued walking toward the altar, wondering if they could detect her scattered thoughts.

Mike was watching her, a frown line on his forehead that made him look as if he regretted everything he’d done for her.

She didn’t care. There’d been a time in her life when kindnesses had been few and far between, and she’d learned to be grateful for any she received.

She’d also learned to return them.

If anyone deserved kindness, it was a man trapped in a cage of self-imposed guilt and painful memories.

Veronica smiled to herself as she realized that her previous career as a soul-saver made it impossible for her to do what others would probably do in these circumstances—let him work out his problems by himself and keep an understanding distance.

But she couldn’t believe that a man who bemoaned her presence, yet continued to do things for her, didn’t want, deep down, to be her friend.

As she reached the minister, she couldn’t help giving Mike a meaningful glance before turning to take her place beside Megan.

MIKE STOOD BESIDE Tate as he repeated his vows, then handed him the ring that would seal this ancient ritual. This time, he wanted Tate to get back from the marriage all he gave. He’d always thought his brother remarkable in that respect. Even personally beset with problems, Tate could find something to give to someone who needed him.