he left her last night. Maybe her insistence on talking to Miss Izzy had scared him off.
He seemed pretty mad when she suggested it, but then again, not so mad that he hadn’t kissed her until her toes curled and her limbs turned to water. The man knew how to kiss.
If he’d changed his mind about the second date, it was probably a good thing.
When the waitress came to do drink refills, Lara lowered her voice and leaned in. “Whatcha doin’, kiddo? This is supposed to be a work-free zone.”
“It’s not work,” Abby said. “I was only checking to see if I had a text from Duncan. He asked me out again for Friday night, but I made him mad, so he may be done with me.”
“What did you do that was so terrible?”
“I told him I would only go out with him a second time if he would take me to see Miss Izzy beforehand and let me tell her about the offer we have for her property.”
Lara sat back in her seat and pursed her lips. The conversation ebbed and flowed around them. “I’m impressed. Playing hardball.”
“It’s not that,” Abby whispered. “But Mr. Chester asked me to take care of one thing while he’s on leave, one simple thing. All I need to do is tell Miss Izzy about the offer. If she’s really dead set against selling, all she has to do is say no. I will have fulfilled my obligation, and that will be the end of it. I don’t know why Duncan is making such a big deal about it.”
“I’ll bet I do.”
“How could you possibly know what that Scotsman is thinking?”
“He didn’t really want to move here, right?”
“Correct.”
“And if Miss Izzy accepts the offer being brokered by your law firm, Stewart Properties changes hands and Duncan is off the hook. The poor man probably feels guilty, because deep down, he wants you to convince his grandmother to sell out. But that makes him a bad person, so it’s easier to keep you away from her.”
“Well, it’s a moot point because I don’t think his dinner invitation is still on the table.”
Lara reached for a breadstick and dunked it in homemade marinara sauce. “The man wants you, Abby. He’ll figure out a way to have you and appease his conscience at the same time. You wait and see.”
By Thursday evening, Abby’s spirits hit rock bottom, and her opinion of Lara’s romantic advice fell lower still. Forty-eight hours had passed and not a single word from Duncan Stewart. The man kissed her as if she had been the only oasis in a trackless desert, and then he had simply walked away.
She almost opted out of dinner with friends. It was difficult to fake a good mood when all she wanted to do was watch romantic comedies and mope around her small house. In the end, she went, but only because the outing took her mind off Duncan and the affair that never was.
No matter how many times she told herself it was for the best—that it was completely inappropriate for her to date the grandson of one of Mr. Chester’s influential clients—she didn’t believe it in her heart. How long had it been since a man was really interested her? Almost never?
Duncan Stewart might ruin her for other men, but that was a risk she was prepared to take. Even knowing he would be in Candlewick a limited amount of time, maybe only two years (and that their affair would likely be far shorter than that), was not a negative.
He fascinated her. For once in her neatly planned life, she wanted to make the rash, dangerous choice. She wanted Duncan.
When dinner wound to an end, she decided to leave her car at the restaurant and walk the relatively short distance home. She’d had several glasses of wine, so she didn’t want to take any chances that she might not be in full control. The night was crisp with a hint of autumn, but not cold. Other people were out and about on the streets even at this hour.
Crime was virtually nonexistent in Candlewick. Some people compared their little town to the fictional Mayberry. In many cases, that description wasn’t far off.
By the time she made it to her street and up the block to her own sidewalk, it was late. Sleepy, and still caught up in wondering about Duncan, she didn’t spot the intruder at first. Then something moved in the shadows, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
Frozen with fear and in quick succession disgust, she called out to the shadowy figure. “What are you doing here, Daddy?” She stayed where she was out at the road, not wanting him to follow her into the house.
The large hulking shadow turned into an old man under the harsh glare of the streetlight. Once upon a time her father had been handsome and dapper. Even now—when he wanted to—he could clean himself up, get a haircut and present to the world a reasonable facsimile of a sophisticated adult.
Unfortunately, his demons—both mental and pharmaceutical—now controlled him to such a degree that most days he was a broken-down shamble of a man.
“I wanted to see my baby, but I couldn’t get in the house,” he said. The words were slurred. When he moved closer, she smelled alcohol on his breath.
Abby clutched her purse more tightly in her arms. “Well, you’ve seen me. I need to get to bed. It’s late.” She took a breath. “The reason you couldn’t get in is because I changed all my locks.”
He held out his hand, his expression half cagey, half pitiful. “You’re doin’ mighty well in that lawyer job of yours. How ’bout giving your old man a loan? I’m running a little short this month.”
Don’t engage. Don’t engage. Don’t engage. The mantra had preserved her emotional health and sanity on more than one occasion. “I have to go,” she said. No matter how unfounded, waves of guilt battered her self-esteem. It was not even the middle of the month. He received several pension checks, one from the government and a couple of others from his few stable periods of employment. There was no reason in the world for him to be out of money.
Even if he was, it wasn’t her responsibility. She turned her back on him and took a step. But Howard Lander was not giving up.
He scuttled up beside her. “A hundred, Abby girl. That’s all. And I’ll pay you back, I swear.”
Fury rose inside her chest in a choking cloud. Good parents provided a loving, nurturing environment for their children to succeed. Not only did Abby’s father not support her as a teen and young adult, he had actually harmed her and nearly derailed her academic successes.
“If you don’t stay away from me,” she said, her throat raw with tears, “I’m going to take out a restraining order against you.”
The old man stumbled and gaped, genuine puzzlement in his half-vacant expression. “Why would you say that?”
Abby laughed, though she wanted to sob. “Every time you come inside my house, you steal from me, Dad. Money, jewelry, prescription drugs. Did you somehow think I never noticed?”
Even in his addled state, he didn’t
