Home For Christmas. Carrie Weaver

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СКАЧАТЬ ones stair-stepped behind him.

       Nancy frowned. “I mean it though.”

       “Ah, yes, the widow in mourning. I know you too well, Nancy McGuire. I know for a fact there’s a part of you that would dance on your husband’s grave.”

       Fanning herself with a napkin, Nancy deepened her accent to Gone With the Wind proportions. “Ah’m shocked. Genteel Southern ladies do not dance on their husbands’ graves.” Nancy chuckled. “At least not while anyone’s looking.”

       “I’ll second that.”

       Nancy turned to see Beau approach. He looked amazing. His smile was wide and infectious, his hair slightly damp from a shower. She inhaled. And he smelled absolutely wonderful. Some sort of subtle aftershave with a hint of danger.

       Emily nudged her with her elbow.

       Yikes! She’d been caught staring. Emily would never let her hear the end of it. There was absolutely no reason she couldn’t have a good-looking male friend, Nancy reasoned. Shoot, she could pretend he was gay.

       Except for the testosterone that seemed to ooze out every pore.

       He said, “Family legend has it that my great-aunt Charlene poisoned her husband, and every full moon she tiptoed out to the family cemetery and waltzed on his grave. Or did the Lindy or whatever dance they did.”

       Nancy pursed her lips. “And your point is?”

       “Great-Aunt Charlene would have been drummed out of polite society if she’d danced on his grave during daylight hours. But at night, well, that was a different matter. My grandpa always said what went on after dark was nobody’s business.”

       “Hmm, I’m pretty sure I married into the same family. Your grandfather’s name wasn’t McGuire, was it?”

       “Nope. He was a Stanton.”

       Nancy waited for the overwhelming sense of betrayal she normally felt when recalling her late husband. When it didn’t come, she murmured, “That’s the first time I’ve been able to laugh about Eric. I do believe you two helped me reach a milestone today.” Raising her plastic cup of soda, she toasted, “To friends.”

       Emily smiled. She knew the whole story and undoubtedly realized what an important step this was for Nancy. She raised her cup and touched it to Nancy’s. “To friends.”

       They both turned to Beau and waited. He looked like he didn’t feel well. “To friends,” he added weakly. Then he turned and strode from the meeting room.

       Emily shrugged. “Must’ve needed some air.”

       “Must have.” Nancy thought of following him, but decided against it. When he hadn’t returned ten minutes later, she knew she had to do something. What if he was ill?

       After making sure Ana was with Jason, Nancy worked her way to the door. She hoped Emily wouldn’t notice; her vivid imagination would be off and running.

       Crisp air and a hint of snow tickled her nose as she went out to the garden. She didn’t see Beau anywhere. But as her eyes adjusted to the dusk, she located him seated on a bench in the butterfly garden.

       His shoulders hunched, he was staring off into the forest beyond the property.

       Stepping close, she tentatively touched his shoulder. “Hey, is everything okay?”

       “Um, yeah.” His voice was husky.

       Nancy missed his ready smile. This new, somber Beau was an enigma. “The meeting’s started.”

       “I’ll be there in a minute.” Yet he appeared welded to the bench.

       Nancy sat next to him. It was a small bench, so she clung to the edge.

       “Did I say something to offend you?” she asked.

       “Offend me?” He glanced up. “No, why’d you get that idea?”

       “Because you left so suddenly. I know some people don’t always appreciate my humor.”

       “No, I enjoy talking to you. Your sense of humor is a little screwy, but I can handle that.”

       “What, then? Something happened. Is it Rachel? Is she in trouble again?”

       He sighed heavily. “It seems like Rachel’s always grounded, but this time it had nothing to do with her. All of sudden, I could visualize each of my three ex-wives dancing on my grave.”

       Nancy felt her jaw drop open. “Three.”

       “Uh-huh.” He nodded glumly. “I saw myself through their eyes and it wasn’t pretty.”

       Shaking her head to clear it, she contemplated the number of failed marriages Beau had put behind him. Three. In her book, that made him nearly as bad as a bigamist.

       Nancy swallowed hard. She’d been there, done that and bought the T-shirt. There was no way in Hades she’d ever get on that merry-go-round again.

      Chapter 3

      Nancy’s stunned expression did nothing to alleviate Beau’s misery. She might as well have made an L with her thumb and forefinger and pressed it to her forehead in the international sign for Loser.

       He liked Nancy. He didn’t want her to think he was some kind of sleazy guy with an inability to commit. Okay, so he had been a sleazy guy with an inability to commit. But that was in the past. “I’ve changed.”

       The disbelief in her eyes told him she’d heard that line before.

       “Really. I turned over a new leaf when Rachel came to live with me.”

       Nancy raised her chin. “It’s none of my business.”

       “Yes, it is your business. You’re supposed to be helping me hang on to my sanity while raising Rachel. The buddy brochure says trust is essential. I need you to trust me.”

       “I’m the wrong woman for the job, Beau. I’m not nearly as trusting as I used to be.”

       Beau’s heart sank at the bitterness in her voice. Someone had hurt her badly. Maybe the way he’d hurt his ex-wives? He rebelled at the idea. Sure, divorce had been difficult each and every time. Well, except for ex-wife number three. They’d gladly parted ways once they’d sobered up enough to realize what they’d done.

       But certainly Laurie and Vivian, ex-wives number one and number two, respectively, hadn’t been scarred for life. Had they?

       Nancy stood. “Beau, this isn’t going to work.”

       Panic propelled him to his feet. “Look, I know I didn’t think this buddy thing would work, but, um, I have to admit you’ve been a lot of help. You understand teenage girls.”

       “Nobody understands teenage girls.”

       “Yeah, well, you do a hell of a lot better than I СКАЧАТЬ