Angel's Peak

He just stared at her for a second. He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming out, Mom. Drive carefully.”



He watched as she got in her car to drive away from him and he thought, I’d better get to the bottom of that! As far as Luke knew, as far as he could tell, his parents had had a good relationship. They weren’t overtly physical or affectionate in front of their boys but—it was a well-known fact—his mother was way uptight. He assumed, since they had five sons in ten years, they were very physical in private. At his father’s insistence, his mother was always treated with the utmost deference and respect; the man worshiped her. If there was anything she needed, she had only to snap her fingers and he was there for her. She called him her knight, but she called him that softly, quietly.



What the hell was wrong? If she’d had a positive marriage, shouldn’t she be at least amenable to the idea of dinner with a nice man? And now that he gave it some thought, his mother was a knockout for a woman in her early sixties; she looked at least a decade younger than she was. She had a good figure, a quick wit, excellent health and a positive attitude. Logically, she should have been dating, possibly remarried, years ago.



Aiden, Luke thought. Aiden knew women inside and out. Literally. He would figure this out.



Maureen absolutely remembered George, but it just wouldn’t do to let on that she had noticed him. She’d be mortified if he even suspected that the very moment she met him a month ago she’d found him handsome, charming and amusing. Because she was not, definitely not, interested in ever having a man in her life again. Romance was for young girls, not women her age.



She was finally where she wanted to be in life. Comfortable in her skin. Confident in her independence. She was busy all the time, felt good and didn’t mind looking at herself in the mirror…provided she was fully clothed. Her sons were, if not completely settled, at least not as frivolous and immature as they’d once been.



She had wanted grandchildren and now she had one, and a little girl at that. She had always wanted a little girl of her own, but just hadn’t been up to a sixth child. If Shelby and Luke would ever own up, she’d be informed that a second grandchild was on the way. They must be keeping the news tight until they got past the shaky first trimester; lots of couples did that.



And Vivian had literally come to her rescue so she could be near Rosie without interfering in Sean’s attempts to gather up and secure his family.



Viv had turned out to be more than just a port in a storm—she was becoming a good friend. Maureen got a kick out of her, though they didn’t have much in common. While Maureen had kept busy with things like golf and bridge and her church, Vivian had been working full-time, helping out with her daughter and granddaughter and seeing a man. Maureen was so much more old-fashioned than Vivian—she’d never have done such a great job of helping and supporting a daughter who had chosen to be a single mother. But then Maureen was about ten years older and Vivian had herself been a single mother, widowed as a young woman.



When Maureen got back to Viv’s house, she found her roommate was just tucking Rosie into bed.



“Well, hello,” Viv said. “I thought you’d be out a bit later. I hope you had a good time.”



“Of course. I didn’t know we were babysitting tonight,” Maureen said. “I’d have stayed home.”



“It was last minute. Sean and Franci decided on a nice dinner out and I didn’t have plans, so I said I’d keep Rosie here. If they decide to let her stay the night, she can snuggle in with me. But I’m pretty sure they’ll come for her.”



“Gramma Mo-ween, you do me a story?” Rosie asked.



“You’ve had a story already,” Vivian reminded her granddaughter.



“But another won’t hurt,” Maureen said. “Just a short one, then get some sleep. Okay?”



Fifteen minutes later Maureen was back in Viv’s tidy, comfy little living room. Vivian had a fire going and the TV off; she was curled into the corner of the sofa that had her imprint in it, her book in her lap. “It’s getting so cold,” Maureen said. “The fire is nice.”



“How are Shelby and Luke?”



Maureen smiled. “They still haven’t unleashed their news. To me, anyway.”



“Sometimes the mothers are the last to know. Sometimes they tell us things we wish they’d keep to themselves.”



“Hm,” Maureen agreed. She picked up a magazine from Viv’s coffee table.



“Turn on the TV if you like,” Vivian said. “It won’t bother my reading.”



“I’m fine. The quiet is nice,” she said.



Another ten minutes passed when Vivian put aside her book and said, “What’s wrong, Maureen?”



“Huh? Nothing! Nothing at all. Why would you think that?”



“You’re not doing your needlepoint. You’re not looking at that magazine, which is a medicine monthly and probably of no interest to you, anyway. And you’re no magpie, but you’re usually lots more talkative than this.” She smiled. “Even when I’m reading.”



Maureen tossed the magazine back on the coffee table. She smiled and asked, “Have I been rude?”



“There’s not an unappreciative bone in your body, rude or otherwise. So, what’s wrong? Are you upset with your boys?”



Maureen sighed. “Not any more than usual. I did do a rude thing tonight, Viv. I told a lie and I think I got away with it, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I just didn’t like the spot I thought I was in.”



Vivian sat forward a little bit, crossing her legs under her on the sofa. “I can’t imagine—I thought a lie would turn to acid in your mouth!” She grinned almost happily. “Do tell!”



“It’s pretty silly. A gentleman I met while I was here for Luke’s wedding happens to be visiting again and we ran into each other at that little Virgin River bar. I pretended I couldn’t remember meeting him. I don’t know why I did that. Probably because he was coming on a little strong.”



“Strong?” Viv asked. “Did he make a pass?”



“God, no, I’d have had a coronary! He hadn’t even started flirting, thank goodness. But I could tell he was happy to run into me again and I thought it best to just discourage him right away rather than have to reject him later. Turned out he wasn’t nearly discouraged enough and asked me out to dinner.”



Viv was silent for a long moment. Her brows drew together and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And the problem is?” she finally asked.



“I don’t want to go out to dinner with him.”



“Ah,” she said, sitting back on the couch. “He’s not your type?”



“Vivian,” Maureen said with surprise. “I don’t have a type!”



Again Viv was silent. “I don’t think I understand, Maureen. We all have pretty basic likes and dislikes. Are you put off by his looks?”



“That’s not it—he’s actually handsome. Probably a little older than me, but still handsome.”



“Bad manners?” Viv asked. “Bad breath? Slippery dentures? What puts you off?”



“Nothing, he’s nice. Attractive and charming. But I don’t go out to dinner with men.”



“Why ever not?” she asked, completely baffled.



“I’m a single woman. A widow of a certain age. An older woman!”



“Maureen, you must draw the interest of men regularly. You’re a very attractive woman!”



“No, never,” she said. “Not at all. But then, I’m never in places where something like that might happen. I pretty much keep to church things or pastimes with women who live in the condos. Golf, tennis, bridge, the occasional potluck. If I do run into men, they’re with their wives.”



“But don’t you have friends your age who date? Friends who are divorced or widowed who have men friends or boyfriends?”



Maureen made a sound of annoyance. “Yes, and some of them act downright ridiculous! I’ve seen some of these women I play golf and tennis with, chasing men as if they’re…they’re…”



“Horny?” Viv asked with a smile.



Maureen was shocked. “Really, that’s an awful word!”



“Oh, brother,” Viv said with a laugh. “Be right back.”



Maureen was left to wonder what Vivian was doing in the kitchen until she returned and handed Maureen a glass of wine. “I’ve already had a glass of wine. Earlier. Before dinner.”



“You have some special medical condition I should know about?” Vivian asked with a raised eyebrow.



“No, it’s just that I—”



“Two glasses of wine in one day won’t kill you. In fact, if you decide on a third, I won’t tell a soul. You and I need to have a talk.”



“A talk?” Maureen asked.



Vivian went back to the couch with her own glass and nodded. “Since your mother is no longer available, God rest her soul. You know, when you told me your sons considered you a prude, that you considered yourself a prude, I didn’t take you that seriously. I should have. Maureen,” she said gravely. “It’s one thing to be strait-laced, but another entirely to stop living!”



“You can’t say that of me, that I’ve stopped living! I’m very active! True, I’m a little…Well, my son Aiden calls me ‘starched.’ But I like to think of it as moral fiber.”



“Uh-huh. Maybe we should put it all out on the table here, girlfriend. Let’s talk about the difference between moral fiber and uptight fears. Because—”



Maureen got a little red in the face. “Is it an uptight fear to wish your son would marry the woman before he has a child with her?”



“Oh, I wish that, too. Or rather, I wish my daughter had told Sean about Rosie before bolting like she did. I do understand—she was terrified and her heart was breaking. Still…But that’s beside the point. What we wish other people would do has nothing to do with us. That’s not moral fiber, that’s being judgmental and unforgiving.”



“I’ve never been judgmental or unforgiving a day in my life,” Maureen protested.



“Know what? I absolutely believe you. You couldn’t embrace my daughter and granddaughter if you were. So, it must be that what you call moral fiber for yourself is closer to heavy starch or moral constipation! Otherwise you’d have dinner with that nice, handsome, charming man and see if you could become friends. And leave it open to the possibility you could become better friends. And even better friends.”



Maureen shook her head dismally. “You and I come from such completely different backgrounds, Viv. I was planning to be a nun!”



Viv’s eyes widened in shock, but very briefly. “Well, you’d have been some kick-ass nun, that’s for sure. I’ve seen you with your boys—they don’t even sass. But something obviously changed your mind about the convent…”



“Patrick Riordan, Sr., my husband. He hounded me until I gave in and dated him, then married him. And he’s been the only man in my life. The only one. I can’t imagine another man…”



“You must have loved him very much.”



“Well, of course I did, but that’s got nothing to do with it. I’m just far too mature to be thinking about a relationship with a man. Those days are gone. It was hard enough for me when I was young and my body was—” She stopped, unable to finish.



“What? Maureen, you’re beautiful! Your figure is amazing! You play sports and your mind is quick and you seem so confident.”



Maureen snorted. “Of course I’m confident. With my clothes on!” She took a drink of her wine. “Patrick was and will be the only husband of my lifetime.”