muttering a vulgarity that Allison chose to ignore, Krysta ran out of the sunroom. T.J. gave her a head start, then strolled toward the door, brushing against Allison deliberately. Then he was gone.
Allison let out a long breath. It had begun to seem that for every friend she made in this place, she racked up twice as many enemies. But Krysta, no matter how sulky and spoiled, was her cousin, and she couldn’t pretend that didn’t mean something to her, no matter how inconvenient.
* * *
IT HAD BEEN a mistake to let his mother anywhere near Allison Standish, Nick decided as he drove to the bed-and-breakfast to pick up Allison for supper the next evening. Not that he could have prevented it.
He might have known Mom couldn’t resist the temptation to start mothering Allison. Ellen Whiting collected strays the way some women collected shoes. It never seemed to occur to her that some of them might not want to be gathered up in her motherly embrace.
He hadn’t missed the expression on Allison’s face when his mother insisted he’d come for her. It had probably mirrored his own. Well, they were both stuck.
He’d be polite to Allison, of course. He just didn’t want to be entangled with the woman. She might very easily prove to be bad news for all of them. If she found some way of selling Blackburn House, he didn’t doubt that Thomas Blackburn would be waiting to snatch it up. He’d made no secret of the fact that he intended to buy the place as soon as probate was settled. He just hadn’t known that Allison would be the one to inherit. Heaven only knew what plans he might have for the place.
And if Allison herself decided to run it, he could hardly think the situation would be much better. She had no knowledge of how things functioned in a town like Laurel Ridge, and obviously no desire to learn.
He’d presented his role as mayor lightly when Allison had asked about it, but it wasn’t as simple as he’d made it sound. He’d run for office because he thought Laurel Ridge needed protection from those who advocated change at any cost. Not that he was a reactionary, but Laurel Ridge was a good place to live and to raise a child. It deserved people in power who appreciated its positive qualities and took thought for its future instead of running after short-term profits.
All things considered, the inhabitants of Blackburn House might be better off with Brenda Conner in charge. She was so obsessed with turning herself into the social leader her aunt had been that she’d be unlikely to rock the boat.
He stopped in front of the bed-and-breakfast, got out and took a deep breath, feeling like someone who’d been coerced into a blind date with a buddy’s visiting cousin. That sort of thing never worked out well.
By the time he reached the porch, Allison was coming to meet him. At least she hadn’t kept him waiting. He’d give her points for punctuality.
She stepped forward to face him, and his breath caught. He’d have to change the comparison. This wasn’t in the least like going out with someone’s ugly duckling cousin. Allison wore a dress of sea green that matched her eyes and swirled around her legs with every movement. Her hair swirled as well, swinging glossy and smooth as silk, and the heels she wore made her legs seem to go on forever. With an effort, he tore his gaze from those legs—a little late, judging by her expression.
“Is there something wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
“Trust me, there’s nothing at all wrong.” She might be a bit overdressed for a simple supper at the Whiting household, but that didn’t mean her appearance wouldn’t be appreciated.
When they reached the car, he opened the door for her and raised an eyebrow when she slid in without comment.
“Aren’t you going to tell me you can open car doors by yourself?” He leaned against the frame of the door, looking down at her.
She smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your mother.”
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