Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel (13 page)

Another boutique, Annabelle’s, bravely ventured beyond Scotch plaid and flamingo prints, but it, too, had gotten a publicity boost when word got out that Margot shopped there. With a life full-to-bursting with her new marriage, running the farm, and flying to New York for shoots brokered by her agent, Damien Barnes, she was less aware of the surreal celebrity status she’d attained. But as the mother of two school-aged children, and thus more involved in town life, Jordan was often made aware of Margot’s star power—and how a number of women resented her for it.

With Jordan it was a different story. They were either kind—too kind, regarding her with that odious light of pity in their eyes—or they kept her at a distance as if her divorce, like the nasty little cold Kate had brought home, was infectious. Both attitudes galled, and there were times Jordan dreamed of doing something that would shatter their notions with the force of a megaton bomb.

She never did, though, for despite her impatience with some of Warburg’s inhabitants, she had a deep-rooted affection for the town. Moving back had made her aware of how much she prized the sense of connection that came with living in a place where she knew almost everybody by name. And not everyone was petty or idiotic. She had friends here, other parents and many of Warburg’s merchants, like Sara and Adam Steadman, or Edie Morse, who owned
Annabelle’s. But it had taken the divorce for her to realize that many of the couples in Georgetown with whom she and Richard had shared dinners and gone to parties had been Richard’s friends rather than hers. With the split had come the shift in allegiance, everyone moving into the “his” column.

She turned into the Safeway. The parking lot was crowded, as many of the townspeople preferred to park here, in the large lot, while they did other business, rather than waste time circling for a spot in the street. In this respect Jordan was no different. Parking by the low split-rail fence that wrapped around the lot’s perimeter, she checked her errand list and glanced at her watch, calculating. Yes, she could get the shopping done, go to the post office, pop into Braverman’s to pick up the sandwich order, and still make it to the preschool on time. If the sandwiches were ready and waiting, she might even be able to dash into the Corner Bookstore and buy a new Maisie book for Olivia. The adventures of the little girl mouse never failed to bring a smile to her daughter’s face.

Half an hour later, Jordan wheeled a shopping cart filled with groceries across the parking lot and stowed the bags in the back of the minivan. Feeling like a contestant in the game show
Beat the Clock
, she dashed around to the front passenger seat, gathered up the bills and letters to be mailed, and hurried down the street.

At the post office her errands race was hampered by a customer sending packages to Japan. By the time she reached Braverman’s Bagels, a line had already formed leading to where George Rollins manned the cash register.

“Hi, George,” she said when she reached him. “It’s busy today.”

“Hey, Jordan. Insane is more like it. Spring fever has struck. Everyone wants picnic sandwiches.”

“Is the order Margot called in ready yet?”

“Let me go ask Roger.” He stepped away from the register and went over to the back counter where five of the staff
stood elbow to elbow building sandwiches, while those at the front counter sliced bagels and ladled homemade soup into cartons. George patted the deli owner’s shoulder and then pointed to her. She raised a hand in greeting.

“The order’ll be ready in five, Jordan,” Roger called.

“Thanks.”

George came back to the cash register. “Want something to drink while you wait for your order?”

“Actually, yes, can I have a large peach iced tea?” The tea here was delicious. Lightly sweetened, it came garnished with slices of peaches and sprigs of mint.

Sipping her iced tea, she made her way to the back of the deli to wait for her order to be completed. She entertained herself by reading the deli’s menu that was on an enormous blackboard suspended over the front counter. The board was filled with colored-chalk descriptions of equally colorful, and delicious, sandwich combinations and daily soup offerings.

“Jordan! Hi!”

Jordan turned. “Oh, Marla, how great to see you!” she said as she exchanged a quick hug with Marla Hamilton.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you around town.”

“The kids came down with a bug. Max and Kate only just went back to school today. Olivia’s still under the weather, but with half of Max’s class still out, I feel pretty lucky. And how are you? I’ve been meaning to call you.”

“Absolutely famished. I’ve been with Nonie Harrison all morning. She was showing me her guest cottage and telling me what she and Owen Gage have decided to do with the interior.”

“Really?” A cold weight settled in her stomach. So Owen had his design team at work on the cottage. So much for the huge delay. She wondered what else Owen Gage had misled her about. Though it was like picking at a scab, somehow she couldn’t prevent herself from asking. “So what did he recommend to Nonie?”

“Well, lots of really good, practical ideas for the rooms, like putting in bookshelves in the living room so that her guests can curl up with a novel by the fire, and installing glass-faced wood cabinets in the kitchen to make it easier to find the dishes, especially useful for guests who don’t know the space. And they’re going to install this green marble for the countertops that’s called Verde Italia that Nonie could use with majolica pieces to add splashes of color and pattern. The colors they chose are just wonderful, Jordan. The master bathroom’s going to be done in ocean hues with a glass and stone mosaic for the walk-in shower, called Pacific Blue. The rest of the bathroom will have marble and ceramic tiles in a deeper hue. And the decorator had this idea for installing a double-ended claw-foot bathtub that is so romantic! I would love to have one to soak in alone. Or,” she paused, her eyes twinkling merrily, “now that Bruce and I are going to have the house to ourselves, I might invite him into the tub, too. We haven’t done that sort of thing in years.

“And if the tub hadn’t sold me, the decorator picked out the sweetest wallpaper by Jane Churchill for one of the smaller bedrooms. It has these Indian elephants. It was so whimsical yet tasteful. I simply adored it. I’ve made Nonie promise to put a word in for me so I can get bumped ahead on their waiting list. You must get her to invite you over the second the cottage is finished. I know you’re going to love how it looks.”

That wouldn’t be hard, Jordan thought, furious. From what Marla told her, Owen Gage had ripped off her every idea, right down to her suggestion of using majolica pieces to enliven the kitchen space. She’d known Nonie would go for that, because she loved to collect Victorian majolica. And now, piggybacking on her insights and creativity, he was going to get Marla’s business. Damn him.

Did the man have any principles? Dumb question. What really angered her was that there was no way to set Marla
straight. It wasn’t only Owen who was being underhanded. Nonie was lying through her teeth by giving him credit for her ideas. Soon half the town would be discussing Owen Gage’s
brilliant
ideas.

“Marla, I haven’t told you but I’m opening my own des—”

Her overture was cut off by a shout of “Order’s all ready, Jordan.”

She turned. George was holding a large shopping bag aloft. Giving him a nod of acknowledgment, she opened her mouth to finish telling Marla about her new interior design business, but then Marla began speaking.

“My God, look at this crowd. I better jump in line and place my order before I faint from hunger. I’ve decided on the curried chicken salad on sourdough with a side of the purple coleslaw and extra pickles. And I think I’ll get the pastrami on rye with red onion chutney, too. It’s Bruce’s favorite. I’m going to drop by his office and surprise him with lunch—what better way to butter him up for when I tell him I want to hire Gage and Associates to redecorate?” she said with a conspiratorial grin.

Jordan walked out of the deli in a daze, barely registering the faces of the people strolling along the street, completely oblivious to the cars rolling past. She didn’t even notice the silver Audi TT that slowed to a crawl, its driver’s side window descending.

“Jordan.”

She spun about, the weighted paper bag she was carrying bumping into her leg. She gripped the cup of iced tea in her other hand, its surface cold and slick with condensation.

Owen Gage had braked to a complete stop. He shifted in the driver’s seat and gave her that easy, confident smile.

Without warning, something inside her cracked, and the anger she’d buried exploded.

“You jerk.” With a snap of her wrist, she dashed her iced tea into his too handsome face. Just as quickly she turned
and marched down the street, ignoring his enraged cry of, “What the hell!”

He deserved it, every last stinking drop, she thought. That was a small price to pay for going and lifting her ideas for Nonie’s cottage and then effectively stealing Marla, a client she’d been hoping to land. What an arrogant so-and-so, to believe he could hail her with impunity as he drove by. As if his underhanded dealings didn’t matter.

Fury propelled her for the next block and a half. Then suddenly her feet stalled as out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Fleur de Lys’s window display. She turned to stare at the pale ivory arrangement of peonies, tulips, and white roses suspended in the center of the window, creamy silk ribbons hanging from it in gently curling streamers.

Her bridal bouquet had been made of peonies, too, entwined with the palest green viburnum and wild hibiscus.

Jordan’s anger died as abruptly as it had erupted. Its flames extinguished, she was left with nothing but an aching hole.

Yes, she’d been infuriated to learn of Owen’s sneaky business tactics, but her anger was ultimately superficial compared to the despair she had experienced listening to Marla Hamilton. Her friend’s happy chatter about how she was planning to surprise Bruce with one of his favorite sandwiches in order to sweet-talk him into agreeing to a redecorating project, her pleasure at the prospect of recapturing sensual thrills with him, of loving him enough to want to rekindle the excitement and passion in their marriage of many years, had reminded Jordan of how very much she had lost. So many things were gone from her life and who knew when—or if—she would ever be so lucky as to experience them again?

And then Owen had materialized, a man who, with a single inquiring lift of his dark brows, probably had women jumping into his bathtub for a splash-filled romp. In her anger and despair she’d lashed out at an obvious target.

Oh, God
, she wailed silently as tears began to slip down
her cheeks. She was an emotional wreck. How could she have behaved so badly, with such an appalling lack of self-control? How could she have called a man she’d only met twice a jerk and then hurled iced tea at him? Even if she could somehow justify her behavior, she was
not
the type of person who flew off the handle in public—or private.

She stared at the lush flowers that shimmered like sunlit silk through the wash of her tears. She couldn’t remember when she had last received a bouquet from a man. Impossible to calculate as her tears had now become choking sobs.

God, when will it stop hurting?
Pressing a fist to her trembling lips, she abruptly became aware of the bag weighing down her other hand, and with it the pressing weight of her other responsibilities.

She had to pull herself together, she thought, wiping her tears. Resolutely turning away from the flower shop, she hurried down the street toward the Safeway parking lot so she could perform an emergency makeup application in the seclusion of the minivan. Even if it took all the lessons Kristin had taught her to hide the evidence of her crying jag, she couldn’t let Kate and Max see her sad. And, by the time she pulled into Rosewood Farm’s drive, she would have her cool and unruffled mask firmly in place.

Her family had enough to worry about without her adding to the list.

The woman was certifiable. A dangerous virago. What in hell had possessed Jordan Radcliffe to chuck her tea at him? He hadn’t even
seen
her in two weeks.

Dripping wet and boiling mad, Owen pulled into the nearest space and jumped out of his car, intent on catching her and demanding what in the blazes she’d thought she was doing. But by the time he reached the spot where he’d seen her, she was already halfway down the block, beating a fast retreat. He followed her with his eyes boring twin holes into her slender back, and even called her name, but
she’d obviously decided to pretend she was as deaf as she was crazy.

Although he walked fast, he didn’t manage to close the distance between them. Those long legs of hers, which he’d so foolishly admired, were eating up the sidewalk.

But then as if she’d run into an invisible wall, she stopped, turning to stare, as if entranced, into one of the store windows.

For some reason—perhaps on account of the strange stillness that had stolen over her—Owen found himself hanging back.

He glanced at the store’s sign, surprised to find that it was a flower shop and not a jeweler hawking Cartier. Yet Jordan was looking at the window display with the fixed intensity and longing most women—certainly the women he knew—reserved for the most radiant of diamonds.

Suddenly he noticed her shoulders were shaking. She was crying. Something inside him twisted into a tight knot of helplessness at the thought of this beautiful woman weeping openly.

He was still standing in the same spot when abruptly she dried her tears. He watched her visible effort to compose herself, draw a deep breath, and throw back her shoulders as she quickly walked away.

Unwilling to disturb a woman who only seconds ago had been weeping as if her heart was broken, Owen remained where he was. But his gaze followed Jordan until she was lost from sight.

He’d made the right decision, he told himself. Strangely shaken by what he’d witnessed, he wasn’t sure whether he’d end up chewing her out or pulling her into his arms to make her hurt go away if he actually confronted her.