Second To None

“Vee?” Colette again.

“Coming,” she called back, fluffing her skirt and combing her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to give it a little height.

The first people she noticed when she walked into the shop were Colette’s daughters, standing together in front of the large mirror, looking like an Anne Geddes photograph. Their flat little torsos emerged from bouffant yellow skirts like the pistils in a lily. Megan, the eight-year-old, had rumpled braids, and Katie, seven, had a disheveled ponytail, though Veronica had been there half an hour ago when Colette had brushed it.

Veronica rushed forward to wrap her arms around them. Even when she’d finally realized she’d entered the convent for all the wrong reasons, she’d stayed because of the children constantly crowded around her.

“You are so beautiful!” she told the girls. “Oh, and you, too, Aunt Rachel.” Rachel stood to the side, fussing with the sash at her hips. She looked lovely, the dropped waist concealing her slight plumpness.

“But look at Mommy!” Megan said, pointing to the other side, where Colette stood.

She’d chosen a simple, fitted dress with a straight skirt of ecru lace. It was set off by a veiled pillbox hat perched atop her red hair, which was coiled into an elegant twist.

“You look like a magazine cover!” Veronica said.

“Well, look at you!” Colette exclaimed, then said to someone behind Veronica, “Isn’t this color perfect for her?”

Veronica turned, expecting to see the clerk who’d helped them make their selections. Instead she faced four watchful males, studying her with varying levels of interest.

Armand smiled at her with fatherly indulgence. “The bride will have competition for everyone’s attention,” he said with Old World gallantry.

Tate’s expression was fraternal as he moved across the room to put an arm around Colette. “If I didn’t have eyes only for this woman, I’d find out what you were doing after the wedding.”

The other man, who must be Shea, seemed stricken. “I know a woman who wore that color all the time.” He sighed, then seemed to pull himself together. “It looks even more wonderful on a brunette.”

Mike heard Tate say, “Aha! Now we know you’re carrying that torch for a blonde or a redhead.” But he was too distracted to join in the banter that followed.

The only thing on his mind was how much more difficult his life was going to be with Veronica around. She was beautiful. And though he’d briefly held that trim body in his arms, he hadn’t realized just how perfect it was.

Feelings he’d thought long dead weren’t dead at all. They were asleep. And waking up.

It wasn’t simply lust. That would be easy enough to deal with. This was interest...longing. Lust with depth and complications. He wanted to touch her, but he wanted to know her, too. What had sent her into a convent? What had brought her out again?

She’d been a nun. He’d seen things she probably couldn’t even imagine in her worst nightmares.

No. If he got to know her, she’d get to know him, and that might not be a good experience. It had certainly sent Lita, the last woman in his life, running in the opposite direction.

Anyway, he didn’t want anyone that close right now. He wasn’t ready. He might never be ready.

Katie came to take his hand, and smiled up at him, all freckles and sparkle. “Don’t you think she’s pretty, Uncle Mike?”

He couldn’t lie to a child or to a former woman of the cloth. “I think she’s beautiful, Katie,” he admitted, smoothing her hair.

The men decided to wait outside while the women changed. Mike couldn’t remember ever being so desperate for a breath of fresh air.

THE WEDDING PARTY FILLED the small coffee bar with laughter and loud conversation. Veronica sat in the midst of the din and thought how wonderful it was to be surrounded by such joyful noise.

Katie sat in Tate’s lap, Megan talked nonstop to Mike, and Shea, his moroseness banished, was having a serious discussion with Rachel about breakfast menus for the B-and-B.

Colette grinned at Veronica. “Those three are always charming the men,” she said with a jut of her chin in the direction of her daughters and Rachel. “We don’t stand a chance of getting any real attention.”

That was fine with Veronica. She just enjoyed watching the happy group.

She noticed the rapt attention Mike paid to Megan, and the little girl’s complete confidence that she had his interest. He might not want other children around the compound, but he certainly seemed to treasure Colette’s daughters.

“We’re starting on your loft tomorrow, Veronica,” Tate said from the far end of the table. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. “This is what I had in mind to make best use of the space. Will that work for you?”

Colette leaned toward Veronica as she unfolded the sheet and studied the rough blueprint for her new home. A bath and bedroom were side by side at the far end of the oblong space, a U-shaped kitchen took up the middle and a breakfast bar separated it from the living room at the front.

She noticed a narrow space that ran along the very edge of the loft. “What’s that?” she asked, holding up the sheet and pointing to the strip.

“It’s the gallery,” Katie answered. “For keeping books and plants and things. And it’s gonna have windows so you can see down into the day care.”

Colette looked startled. “You didn’t even tell me that,” she complained to Tate.

He shrugged. “You weren’t sitting in my lap when I did it.”

Colette poked a playful finger at her daughter. “That’s because someone else is always in it.”

Katie giggled and leaned back into Tate’s chest, apparently not feeling repentant.

“I think it’s wonderful!” Veronica folded the sheet and handed it back. “I appreciate all the trouble you’re going to for me.”

“We’re happy to have someone in the space. It’ll make the compound completely operational.”

“I can help you with a nutritional menu for the kids’ snacks and meals,” Shea offered. “And we can order your food with ours to make it more economical.”

“Shea’s the sweet one,” Colette said to Veronica in a stage whisper.

Shea pretended modesty.

There was simultaneous grousing from Tate and Mike.

“She plays up to him for his white-chocolatemacadamia-nut brownies,” Tate accused. “I’m the sweet one.”

“No, you’re the orderly one,” Shea corrected. “The detail-obsessed slave driver who never gives any of us a moment’s peace.”

Tate opened his mouth to dispute the point.

“Save it,” Mike advised before Tate could speak. “That was more on target than a smart bomb.”

“I think Mike’s the sweet one.” Rachel, seated between Mike and Shea, patted Mike’s arm. “He takes me shopping once week, and he even had a step installed on the Blazer to make it easier for me to get in.”

Mike spread his hands wide—the seated equivalent of taking a bow.

Then Rachel added with a taunting grin, “You just don’t think of him as sweet because he always looks as though he’s going to arrest you.” She elbowed him affectionately. “You do have to lighten up, dear.”

Veronica watched Mike take the resultant laughter and ribbing with good-natured aplomb. This man was not at all what she expected.