“I love your hair that way, Addie,” he commented. “It’s very… carefree.”
She raised a hand to pat at the hairdo, blushing like a schoolgirl. She had hacked off her long tresses with a pinking shears because she hadn’t been able to remember how to braid it. Now it fringed her face in a kind of frenetic pixie look. “You’re such a flirt, you big Irish rascal.”
Bryan tucked her arm through his and led her down the hall toward the front door, shooting a wink at Rachel as they went.
Rachel smiled her appreciation and mouthed a thank-you. Clutching her clipboard to her chest, she sighed up into the limp curls that had long ago escaped her sensible hairstyle. What would she have done without Bryan here these past few days? What would she do without him when she and Addie moved to the city?
“He’s something, isn’t he?”
She turned in surprise toward the voice that had suddenly sounded beside her. Alaina Montgomery-Harrison stood there, looking cool and immaculate in her Pierre Cardin ensemble of a black pleated skirt and cream-colored sweater. Tall, angular, elegant, she was just one of Bryan’s many friends who had volunteered to help with the tag sale.
Rachel wondered how the woman managed to appear so unfrazzled. They had all been run ragged in the four hours the sale had been going. She decided Alaina was just one of those few lucky women who got out of bed in the morning looking like an ad for ageless beauty.
“Bryan,” Alaina prompted with a wry smile.
“Yes.” Rachel shook her head. “He’s something.”
They were alone in the hall for the moment. Alaina fixed her with a sharp, intuitive stare that made Rachel feel as if she were suddenly under a very powerful microscope.
“May I ask what exactly he is to you?”
Rachers eyes widened, revealing most of the information Alaina required.
“It’s not that I have designs on him,” Alaina said, deliberately softening both her look and her attitude. Her translucent blue eyes glittered with warm affection. “My husband is the only lunatic I need. It’s just that Bryan is a very special friend. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Rachel said carefully.
Alaina bit her tongue on the words but you will if you have to. A little worry line formed between her eyes, then her gaze came to rest on the brooch Rachel wore at the throat of her white blouse.
“Did he, by any chance, give you that?”
Rachel lifted her fingers to the heavy pin and brushed them across the smooth surface of the stone. “Yes, he did. Why?”
A soft, knowing smile curved Alaina’s mouth. “No reason,” she said softly. Changing gears smoothly, she motioned toward the empty hall. “There seems to be a lull in the storm. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
Rachel had the distinct impression she had just passed some kind of test. Relief poured over her, and she smiled at the dark-haired woman, glad, though she wasn’t quite sure why. “I’d like that.”
They walked outside, onto the porch, where Alaina’s husband, Dylan, was overseeing the group of children running the refreshment stand. Dylan’s son, Sam, who Rachel guessed to be about eleven, seemed to be in command of everything. He was a very serious boy with sandy hair and a mind-boggling vocabulary. His assistants included his younger sister, Cori, a dark-eyed, dark-haired charmer; and Faith Callan’s daughter, Lindy, an adorable little six-year-old moppet with burnished gold curls. Lindy appeared to be in sole charge of the brownies-there was a telltale smudge of chocolate frosting on her cheek and a dot of it on her button nose. Dylan was lounging on a folding chair with his feet up on the porch railing and a chubby baby girl on his lap.
“Hardly working, as usual, I see,” Alaina said dryly, an affectionate light in her eyes as she mussed her husband’s unruly chestnut hair.
Dylan flashed her a lazy smile. “I know how to delegate authority.”
“That’s one explanation.”
Alaina scooped the baby up in her arms and cuddled her, making a comically disgusted face when the baby squealed in delight and wiped chocolate frosting on her immaculate sweater. Alaina dabbed ineffectually at the stain with a napkin.
“I swear, they gave us the wrong baby in the hospital,” she said mildly. “They gave us the dry cleaner’s child; it was a plot.” She kissed her daughter’s nose and grinned. “But I won’t trade you back, will I, sweetheart? No way.”
The baby squealed again and bounced in her mother’s arms.
Rachel smiled and sipped at her coffee. Alaina didn’t strike her as the baby-cuddling type, which made the display of affection all the more touching. Her gaze fell on her own mother, who stood with Bryan near a set of lawn furniture they were trying to sell-a wooden glider and three chairs. Addie had never been the cuddling type either. Still, they had been close once. Rachel had hoped they would be close again, before Addie’s illness stole away all familiarity. But they didn’t seem to be able to manage it. The past stood between them like a wall, and the present, with the conflict about the move and their changing roles, was only reinforcing that wall.
“Excuse me, Miss Lindquist.”
Rachel nearly bolted out of her skin. Her coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, and she had to hop back to avoid getting it on her plum-colored slacks. “Mr. Porchind. You startled me.”
To say the least, she thought as she looked down at the man. Mr. Rasmussen stepped out from behind his partner, where he had been almost completely obscured from view. The bruise had faded from the thin man’s cheek, but he still looked creepy with his sunken eyes and sharp features.
For just a second Rachel tried to picture either of them as Addie’s ghost, but she dismissed the idea. Bryan was being overly dramatic thinking someone was trying to get her and Addie to leave Drake House. She was convinced it was just some local kid playing a prank, if indeed anything was going on. The last incident, which had happened several days before, had faded enough from her memory to seem almost as unreal as Addie’s whimsy.
“Mr. Rasmussen and I thought we would stop by and do a little bargain hunting.”
“Bargains,” Rasmussen echoed, steepling his hands in front of him like a preacher giving a blessing.
“Yes, well,” Rachel said with a smile that looked more pained than pleasant, “there are plenty to be had here today. I see you’ve found some things already.”
Porchind held a small stack of old books in his dimpled hands, the bindings pressed back into his enormous belly. “Indeed.” He gave a nervous little laugh. “Have you had a chance to speak with your mother?”
“No, I haven’t. No, not yet. I’m sorry.”
As if on cue, Addie, standing down on the lawn, shouted, “I’m not leaving this house! Get that through your thick head, Hennessy! I am not leaving this house!”
Rachel felt the color drain from her face as all eyes turned toward her mother. There had to be close to thirty people on the lawn, browsing at an assortment of sale items, and another ten on the wide porch. Addie stared back at them, a truculent gleam in her eyes. She pulled her party horn out of the pocket of her sweater and blew it at them.
Jayne Reilly saved the day, bravely stepping forward to comment on the attractiveness of Addie’s new hairstyle, thereby distracting her from Bryan, who had suddenly fallen out of favor.
“Well, there you have it,” Bryan said, shrugging as he mounted the steps to the porch. A particularly inane smile graced his handsome face as he regarded Porchind and Rasmussen. “Addie’s not moving. Looks like you’re out of luck, gentlemen. How about a consolation prize?”