Chapter Two

As Abby wiggled into the form-fitting silk dress, she thought of the awkward moment with Matilda earlier. She was grateful her friend had let the subject of the ridiculous note Jonah had written drop.

Seriously, who above the age of ten wrote “Please read my letter. It’s important” on the back of an envelope?

Important or not, his enclosed missive ended up in a large bag where the rest of his notes were “filed.” The ones addressed to Eva Grace went into a box. Both bag and box sat on the top shelf of her closet. The cash went in the bank.

Despite Veronica’s threat to cut her off years ago, the money and letters had continued to arrive each month. The first time, Abby had been so angry she’d nearly ripped up the letters and cash and sent the pieces back to Jonah. Only the knowledge that it was his baby growing inside her had her hesitating.

In the end, she’d put away the letters and kept the money.

Pride, her mother once told her, doesn’t fill an empty stomach or put a roof over your baby’s head.

Pregnant and broke, Abby hadn’t needed a crystal ball to know her life was about to get very hard.

Anger surged. She would not give one more thought to Jonah Rollins. If giving money assuaged his conscience, so be it. But the income, however welcome, hadn’t been what she’d needed most during those difficult early years.

Years when she did good to get at most five hours of sleep a night. When worry and fatigue had her hair falling out in clumps. When Eva Grace cried and screamed and pleaded each time the casts came off to be replaced by the dreaded braces. Braces that had to be worn twenty-three out of twenty-four hours.

“Mommy? May I come in?”

Eva Grace eased open the door to Abby’s bedroom and peered inside. She was a petite pixie with bright-blue eyes and a mass of golden curls. Her facial features were delicate, but Abby saw Jonah in the shape of her eyes and the single dimple in her left cheek.

“Of course.”

The words had barely left her lips when the little girl bounded into the room and flung her arms around Abby.

“You look be-u-ti-ful.” Eva Grace rubbed her cheek against the silky fabric of her mother’s dress. “I wish I could go to the party tonight. I like parties.”

“You had your party this afternoon,” Abby reminded her. “Celebrating Bristol’s birthday.”

“We had cake.” Eva Grace’s face brightened. “And ice cream.”

“There may be cake tonight.” Abby fingered her daughter’s soft curls. “But I’m practically positive there won’t be any ice cream.”

“No ice cream?” Eva Grace leaned back, her blue eyes wide with disbelief. “Poor Mommy.”

As Abby stroked her palm over the child’s hair, her heart swelled with love. How blessed she was to have this amazing girl as her daughter. “There may be petit fours. If there are, I’ll snag a couple for you.”

Eva Grace’s eyes brightened. She stepped back and began to twirl again. “I like the ones with the little flowers.”

“I’ll do my best.” Following her daughter’s example, Abby whirled, the skirt of her dress flaring out. But the air on her back told her she wasn’t quite as ready for the evening as she thought. She stopped and turned. “I need a favor from my favorite daughter.”

Eva Grace giggled. “I’m your only daughter.”

It was a familiar game, and the happiness on her child’s face arrowed straight to Abby’s heart. “Would you please zip me up, only daughter?”

Eva Grace scrambled onto the dressing table chair, eager to help. Gazing at their reflections in the mirror, Abby admired the shiny pink shoes her daughter had worn to the party. It had only been within the past six months that pretty shoes had even been an option.

She’d come so far. They’d come so far.

Abby vividly recalled the worry-filled days in the NICU following her child’s birth and the surgery to repair the meningocele. Then the years of serial casting and bracing to deal with the clubfoot.

She exhaled a ragged breath. Sometimes it was hard to believe those days were behind them.

“All done.” Eva Grace singsonged the words and hopped down from the chair.

With their hands clasped together, she and Eva Grace surveyed Abby’s reflection.

Though Abby sometimes felt ancient because of all that had happened in the past five years, tonight wasn’t one of those times. Perhaps because the dress was cherry red, which was her favorite color. Or maybe because she’d gotten back to her “fighting” weight. For the past year she’d been getting up early to lift weights and sneak in a cardio workout before Eva Grace started her day.

Abby might be starting her third decade, but she was in the best shape of her life.

“You have brown hair.” Eva Grace cocked her head. “I don’t look like you.”

This wasn’t the first time Eva Grace had pointed this out. She knew why she and her mom didn’t resemble each other. The tale of how a tiny fertilized seed had been planted in Abby and grown into Eva Grace was a favorite story.

Lately, Eva Grace’s questions had been more focused on her “daddy.” She didn’t seem interested in the mommy portion because, in her mind, she had a mommy. But a daddy, well, that was a mysterious creature.

Though Abby never brought up Jonah, when Eva Grace asked, she kept her answers honest but vague.

“You have light hair. I have dark hair.” Abby smiled. “Neither of us have red hair.”

Abby flipped the sautoir necklace around so the tassel at the end hung not in the front but down the back. When doing her research on 1920s-era jewelry, Abby had discovered the decade had been one of experimentation. Cheaper pieces and colors that clashed were part of the fun. As were long strands like she wore tonight, which drew attention to the open back of her dress.

“Bristol looks like her daddy.” Appearing bored, Eva Grace once again began to twirl, arms outstretched. “They both have red hair.”

Abby sat on the bed and slipped on her shoes. “When I was a little girl, I wanted striped hair, like a zebra.”

If she’d thought—hoped—to get her daughter off topic, the child’s next question confirmed that it hadn’t worked.

“Did my daddy have hair like mine?” Eva Grace pinched a strand of hair between her finger and thumb and let it dangle.

An image of Jonah as a little boy with a thick mop of blond curls flashed before her.

“I seem to recall he did.” Abby kept her tone casual.

Abby pressed her lips in a tight, thin line to keep from adding that she didn’t know him all that well. She’d never believed her old friend would leave her hanging in the wind. Or would have been willing to sacrifice his own child to keep his wife happy.

“Did he—?”

The doorbell’s ring stopped whatever question Eva Grace had been about to utter.

“Nev-a-eh is here.” Eva Grace raced from the room to answer the door.

Saved by the babysitter, Abby thought as sweet relief surged.

As time went on, there would be more questions about Jonah. Specific questions. Eva Grace was a smart, curious girl and the only one of her friends without a father in the home.

Abby needed to be prepared to answer those questions.

But that wasn’t something to worry about on this beautiful late-August evening.

Jonah Rollins was a thousand miles away.

He was her past, and she was firmly grounded in the present.

+

The party, sponsored by the Hazel Green Foundation—fondly referred to as the Green Machine—was being held at the Pomeroy mansion. The home, designed by Richard Green and built for his friend, Jasper Pomeroy, had been erected in 1923. Recently, the house had passed to real estate developer Leo Pomeroy, a direct descendant of Jasper and the current mayor of Hazel Green.

As tonight’s event was being held in a relatively small venue, a limited number of civic leaders, business owners, and volunteers had been invited.

It was far different from the bigger, more elaborate birthday bash that would be held in October. That soiree, open to everyone, would be held in the civic center ballroom on the night of Hazel Green’s birthday.

Abby gave her keys to the valet before climbing the steps to the front door. She was greeted by a young man dressed in a dark tuxedo and wearing shoes so shiny that Abby could have used them as a mirror.

With a grand flourish, he opened the door and gestured her inside. Abby let the beauty of the home envelope her as she moved deeper into the house. The art deco influence was everywhere, from the silver-leaf ceiling to the bold geometric-patterned rug overlaying a black-glossed floor.

Abby paused at the sight of the chandelier. She remembered the silver-plated light fixture from previous parties. Original to the home, it was a work of art with distinctive long glass prisms at the top. This was the first time she’d seen it festooned with plumes of ostrich feathers.

It appeared as if a huge bird had given its wings a good flap and smothered the lights in feathers. Abby had no doubt that if Eva Grace were here, she’d be begging for “just one” of those fluffy feathers.

Abby had barely had time to swallow a chuckle when she was hit by the sweet scent of calla lilies. Her heart lurched. These lilies had been her mother’s favorite flower. At the funeral, the fragrance had been overpowering.

Blocking out the smell as best she could, Abby concentrated on her surroundings. She wove her way through the crowd. The realization that she knew most of the people attending tonight’s event both baffled and comforted her. In just over two years, she’d become a part of this vibrant community in ways she’d never dreamed possible.

Every few feet Abby found herself stopped by someone with a question about the “big” birthday bash. She was in charge of not only overseeing the pre-events but also chairing what many considered the most important planning committee. She’d been apprehensive about so much responsibility, but seasoned volunteers had made her job easy.

As she smoothed her skirt and prepared to dive into the crowd once more, Abby realized her hand was trembling. The sense of unease that had her nerve endings pulsating puzzled her.

There would be no surprises tonight. She was among friends. The only wild card was the new police chief, hired when Harold Strum had quit to care for his ailing wife.

While the man would take Harold’s place on her committee, Abby didn’t plan on him being an active participant. No doubt settling into his new position would keep him very busy, especially at first.

Abby understood difficult transitions. Not counting the changes in her personal life, she’d made a huge leap when she moved here and took over the running of a ten-room hotel.

At times, it was still hard to believe her dream of owning a business had come true. There had been so many moments when it looked as if she’d never reach that goal. For every step forward, she’d been pushed two steps back.

Then Jonah and Veronica had offered her $50,000 to carry a child for them. Even that hadn’t worked out quite the way she’d thought it would . . .

A knot formed in the pit of Abby’s stomach. She figured this jitteriness must stem from her earlier conversation with Eva Grace. Relax, Abby told herself. She inhaled deeply, then slowly released her breath. She was here to have fun. It had been months since she’d hired a sitter and had the opportunity to socialize with friends.

“You’re looking pensive. Pretty. But pensive.”

Abby swiveled, a smile already on her lips. “Nell.”

Cornelia “Nell” Ambrose brought two fingers nearly to Abby’s red lips before pulling back. “Not Nell. Hazel Green.”

Dressed in a shimmery, intricately beaded dress, circa 1925, Nell fit the image of the town’s patroness to a T.

“You look fabulous.”

“The twenties were an exciting time period.” The cocktail-length flapper dress hugged Nell’s lithe figure like a glove. “I absolutely adore the fashions.”

Nell wasn’t the only one who loved the decade. The era was popular, which in Abby’s mind caused it to be overused. “I was surprised Rachel and her committee decided on 1920s attire.”

“Considering where the party is being held, I’d say it makes perfect sense.” Her friend waved a hand, and eight painted bracelets on her right arm clinked together.

Nell’s hair—or rather, Hazel’s—spilled from under a silver mesh cap in thick waves. The dark-walnut color suited her fair complexion, dark brows, and high cheekbones. Then again, most styles and colors suited the beautiful Cornelia.

When she wasn’t playing Hazel, the attorney wore her own silvery-blonde strands in a stylish pixie.

Tonight, Nell was Hazel Green.

It wasn’t simply that she matched the town’s namesake in stature and confidence. If that were the only criteria, any number of women in the community would be suitable impersonators.

Due to an uncanny ability to transform herself into popular actors and lecturers of the time—both male and female—Hazel Green had been one of the most popular performers on the Chautauqua circuit. Which was why impersonating her at special community events demanded skill and innate talent.

Two things Cornelia Ambrose had in abundance.

Nell, confident and self-assured, appeared to be the picture of a woman with answers to all life’s toughest questions.

But how could that be? As a child advocate attorney, her friend saw pain and heartbreak every day. Of all people, Nell should be constantly questioning whether true love existed and whether giving your heart to someone was ever worth the risk.

Abby had learned that lesson at a young age when her father walked out the front door one day and never came back. Her mother, well, she’d died, leaving her only daughter alone in the world.

And Jonah. Up until she’d gone into that delivery room alone, Abby had held out hope that he’d come through for her.

She wanted to ask Nell whether she’d ever been betrayed. Whether she’d ever had her heart ripped from her chest by someone she trusted.

But as close as she and Nell were, the questions remained unspoken. Though Abby was curious, she didn’t want to be put in a reciprocal position of sharing her own thoughts and feelings.

Instead, Abby grabbed two crystal flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Nell.

Abby sipped the bubbly, finding the taste of this particular champagne very much to her liking. “Have you met the new police chief yet?”

A gleam filled Nell’s baby blues. “Not yet.”

Abby took another drink. “Rumor is he’s a real hunk.”

Nell cocked her head, looking vaguely amused. “Don’t tell me you’re interested?”

Though Abby had no desire—or time—to get involved with anyone, something about Nell’s dismissal of her rubbed Abby wrong. She gestured with one hand. “I may be.”

Nell’s expression turned thoughtful. “In my experience, those who pursue a career in law enforcement can be a mixed bag.”

“You’d know.”

For a second, startled surprise flickered in Nell’s cool blues eyes.

“As an attorney, you deal with police all the time.”

Nell offered her what Abby thought of as the woman’s Mona Lisa smile. It was ridiculous for the two of them to even be discussing the man. As far as they knew, the guy could be married with three kids. But Abby didn’t think so. She swore she’d heard someone mention he was single.

“To Chief Whatever-his-name-is.” Nell lifted her flute in a mock toast, her blue eyes glittering. “May he be one of the good ones.”