“Stipulations?” Stacia asked with eloquently raised eyebrows, giving Tara the distinct impression that she was delivering a rehearsed line.
“Yes. I think we should require that only accommodations up and running on the day we mail the brochure be included, just in case,” he emphasized the words, “the promised rooms are not available.”
There was only one establishment that he could have been referring to, only one establishment that wasn’t currently operational, and everyone knew it. Tara’s blood pressure jacked up, but she made an effort to control herself as she said in a calm, clear voice, “Are you talking about my place, Martin? Because if you are, I can assure you my accommodations will be done on time.”
Martin scowled at her. “How can you guarantee that?”
“The same way you can guarantee that your establishment will have all of its rooms available. Can you be absolutely certain there won’t be a fire or flood—or some other disaster—at your place before the reunion?”
Tara raised her eyebrows, but before Martin could reply, a snide whisper came from the back of the room. “Gee, who would set fire to Martin’s place?”
A muffled chuckle followed and Tara stifled a groan. Everyone knew Tara’s uncle had once attempted a career in arson insurance fraud. He might have been successful, too, if he hadn’t locked himself into the first old building he’d tried to torch, leading to his subsequent rescue, arrest and prosecution. Surprisingly though, other than her father, he was the only Sullivan who’d spent any significant time in jail. Most of the rest of the family managed to get away with time served.
The laughter grew, but somehow Tara kept from shifting in her chair to face the person who had made the comment. Jack didn’t. He turned and glared.
“Martin has a point,” an elderly woman announced with prim conviction, bringing attention back to the front.
“So does Tara,” came another unidentified voice from across the room.
This time Tara did turn, but she couldn’t identify her surprise defender.
“Look,” she said, wanting to put a stop to the debate, “my rooms will be ready. I wouldn’t put myself on the accommodations list otherwise.” She paused, and then added in a low voice, “So, I’ll tell you what, Martin. You worry about your establishment and I’ll worry about mine. I wouldn’t think my five rooms would be that much of a threat to you.”
Martin’s face reddened slightly as a few low chuckles bounced around the room. Stacia tapped the microphone for quiet and Martin turned abruptly toward the front of the room. Tara suspected she hadn’t heard the last from him.
“So, are you really going to have that monstrosity up and running by the reunion?” Jack asked an hour later as he held the door open for Tara.
“I’ll have at least two floors done,” Tara said as they stepped out into the unseasonable heat. “Maybe three if my carpenter hangs around.”
“I’d help you if I weren’t so damned busy at the casino. Losing the assistant manager really cramped me up hourwise.”
“I’m doing okay,” Tara said in a tone she almost believed. “You know, I didn’t expect to be accepted at these meetings with open arms, but I didn’t expect Martin to launch a public attack, either.”
She stopped at her car and unlocked the door. “I guess I should have been nicer to his son.”
“Or vice versa,” Jack replied evenly.
She smiled, but didn’t reply. She was just glad Ryan Somers hadn’t been at the meeting. Night Sky was small and she had to run into him every now and then, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
“Well,” Jack said, settling a big hand on her shoulder, “congratulations on surviving your first business association meeting.”
“No thanks to Martin…or Stacia,” Tara added. “I wonder what’s up with her?”
She and Stacia had never been friends, but they’d never been enemies, either. They’d simply traveled in different social circles having little to do with each other.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Honey, if you spent less time in that big old house, you’d know that Stacia and Ryan Somers are a couple.”
“Stacia and Ryan?”
“They’re engaged.”
Tara’s eyes widened. “No.” Jack was right. She had to get out more.
“For over a week, I think.”
“How perfect,” Tara murmured, turning the idea over in her mind. Ryan liked money. Stacia had money. “Perhaps Ryan has spoken of me in an unflattering way.”
“Yes,” Jack agreed in a like tone, “and rumor has it you also spoke poorly of Martin Somers in the bank yesterday. Mrs. Randall told the girls all about it at lunch.”
“Guilty,” Tara admitted without a trace of remorse.
“Stacia mustn’t like having her future father-in-law disrespected,” Jack surmised. “You have to remember, Tara, that it does not pay to cross the prom queen.”
“I was the prom queen,” Tara reminded him in a dark tone. It still made her cringe when she thought about it.
“Yes, but in my heart,” Jack replied solemnly, “Stacia will always be queen.”
“Yours and hers.” Tara grinned before she opened the car door. “I gotta go, Jack.”
“I’ll save you a seat next week.”
“I’m counting on you.”
NICKY WORKED DILIGENTLY around the house, checking tasks off his list and stopping every now and then to talk. He was an earnest, likeable kid and Matt didn’t have the heart to shut him down when he’d asked about Matt’s background. It was the last thing Matt wanted to discuss. He’d made a vague reply and steered the discussion back to Nicky and his college plans.
Nicky accepted Matt’s redirection of the conversation and Matt liked him all the better because of it. Neither of them mentioned Tara, who’d returned home around noon looking tired and not very happy. She’d fixed lunch for the two men before disappearing upstairs without a word. Matt didn’t see her for the rest of the day, but every now and then he wondered what had made her unhappy.
It was nearly six o’clock when Matt finally got into his truck and drove back to town. But he didn’t go home. Instead, he went to the grocery store, bought a sandwich and a Coke, got into his truck and started driving again, following a gravel road out of town.
He didn’t have it in him to go to the Owl for dinner. As much as he appreciated what Luke was trying to do for him, he didn’t feel like talking and he didn’t have the energy to dodge Becky’s come-ons. He didn’t want to spill his guts and he didn’t want to pretend to be normal.
He just wanted to have a little time to himself, alone, and try to think about…nothing.
“HEY,
