eyes, and Jamie her wide, happy smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ellen. Jamie has been telling me about his family.”
“Telling you all the family secrets, no doubt.” She smiled. “Not that any of them are very secret. Jamie loves to chatter, don’t you, sweetheart?”
Jamie’s grin echoed hers, and he nodded.
“Now, Allison, we have to get better acquainted. Goodness, I remember your father from when we were in elementary school together. You must come and have supper with us one night.”
“That...that’s very nice of you.” But she wasn’t sure she wanted to get any further involved with the Whiting family. They, like everyone else, had a vested interest in any decisions she made about Blackburn House.
“Good.” Ellen seemed to take that as an acceptance, though she hadn’t meant it that way. “What about tonight?”
“I’m afraid I have something else going on this evening.” She wasn’t particularly looking forward to Brenda’s cocktail party, but it was a valid excuse.
“Tomorrow night, then,” Ellen said, her tone brisk and decided. “Nick will pick you up at five o’clock. We eat early with a little guy in the house.”
“I don’t...” She wasn’t sure which to tackle first. “There’s no reason for Nick to drive me. Just give me your address and I’ll set the GPS.”
“Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. Nick will be delighted, won’t you, Nick?”
The expression on Nick’s face didn’t speak of delight, but his mother didn’t seem to notice. “You’re being bossy, Mom,” he pointed out. “Maybe she’d rather drive herself.”
So she can leave early. The words were unspoken but clear to Allison.
“Don’t be silly. We don’t want her getting lost on those back roads.” She clasped Allison’s hand. “We’re glad you’ve come home to Laurel Ridge at last, Allison.”
Allison wanted to deny that Laurel Ridge was home to her in any sense. But she couldn’t deny the warmth of Ellen Whiting’s welcome.
* * *
TWO SOCIAL INVITATIONS in such a short period of time ought to be gratifying, Allison told herself. Would be, if not for the fact that she wanted to stay detached from the residents of Laurel Ridge, given the decisions she had to make.
She stood in the center hallway of the home her father had grown up in that evening, wondering what she was doing here. Mrs. Anderson hadn’t been able to mask her surprise when Allison mentioned where she was headed, but Allison hadn’t been able to tell whether the surprise was at Allison being asked to the Standish house or at Brenda for hosting a party.
Laurel Ridge seemed to have more than its share of large Victorian homes—relics, so Sarah had told her, of the days when the town was founded and lumber barons grew rich on the virgin timber of the ridges.
The Standish place was more modest than Blackburn House, making her wonder if that was part of the obvious rivalry between the families. But her father’s home had a grace and charm of its own. Pocket doors on either side of the central hallway led on the right to a dining room where an oval cherry table carried an array of finger sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres and on the left to a formal living room. Several well-dressed women were cruising the table, while a few men gathered around a sideboard bearing wine bottles and glasses.
Allison accepted a cup of punch from a white-aproned server and moved toward the living room. She’d greet her hostess, make the rounds and slip away early, before anyone could try to persuade her—
She stopped, staring at the silver-framed photograph that stood on the ornate Victorian mantel. This, then, was her grandmother. Allison moved closer, studying the features of the woman who’d been such a mystery to her.
Evelyn Standish must have been in her seventies when the photograph was taken, but she sat with her shoulders erect and her head held high. The face was austere and fine-boned, but with a hint of softness in the eyes. Or was Allison just hoping she read there some regret? Nonsense. Evelyn Standish had made her choice clear when she’d wiped her granddaughter out of her life. It was too late to go back now.
“Allison. You’re here.” Brenda, turning away from the fireplace, sounded as if she didn’t know quite what to do with Allison now that she’d invited her. “I’m sure there are people who’d be delighted to talk with you.” She looked around as if hoping to spot someone.
A hefty male figure loomed up behind her. “Well, this must be the long-lost granddaughter.” He nudged Brenda as he ran an obviously experienced eye over Allison. “Introduce me.”
“Yes, of course.” Brenda’s relief was visible. “Allison, this is Thomas—”
“Tommy Blackburn,” he said, seizing Allison’s hand and holding it a bit too long. “Don’t call me Thomas or I’ll think you mean my father. Glad to meet you. Nice of Brenda to arrange this little shindig so we can get acquainted.”
Allison freed her hand from his. “It was thoughtful of her.” But exactly what Brenda’s thought had been, she couldn’t say.
“What do you think of Laurel Ridge now that you’ve had a chance to see it?” He grinned and nudged her. “Don’t blink or you’ll miss it, right?”
Tommy Blackburn was as much a contrast to his father as she could imagine. He had to be in his forties, at least, and what man that age still wanted to be known as “Tommy”? Ruddy, jovial, with thinning hair and an incipient paunch, he looked as if he’d spent the afternoon on a golf course.
“I’ve met your father,” she said, taking a step back as he invaded her comfort zone.
“I heard.” He rolled his eyes. “You have my sympathy. The old man is obsessed about getting Blackburn House back in the family.”
Allison lifted her eyebrows. “You don’t share his eagerness?”
“Who wants to be burdened with more property? The way the economy is going, the only sensible thing to do with money is enjoy it. You can guess he doesn’t agree with that idea.”
“No, I can see that he wouldn’t.” Apparently Blackburn’s son had no desire to be an empire builder.
“Now here’s the Blackburn that will see us into the future.” Tommy reached out a long arm and caught a passing teenager by the shoulder. “T.J., say hello to Ms. Standish. Allison, this is my boy, Thomas Jeffers Blackburn.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Standish.” The boy, who couldn’t be much over seventeen or eighteen, had a prep school blazer and prep school manners, but his gaze swept over her figure much as his father’s had done. With his dark curly hair and that bold gaze, he probably had the teenage girls lining up for dates.
“Do you go to school here in Laurel Ridge, T.J.?” she asked, nodding to the prep school crest.
“St. Francis.” He shrugged gracefully. “Old family tradition, and all that.” He glanced from her to his father. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be getting
