“It’s Sunday,” Lisa reminded her. “Bars close at ten on Sunday.”
“We’re both too drunk to drive.” Delaney panicked. “How are we going to get home?”
“Louie’s picking me up ‘cause he knows I’m a cheap date and thinks he’s going to get lucky. I’m sure he’ll take you home, too.”
She pictured her mother’s horrified face peering out the front window, crazy Louie Allegrezza careening up the driveway. Delaney smiled at the thought, and she knew she was a few margaritas past sobriety. “If you don’t think he’ll mind.”
But it wasn’t Louie who blew into the bar five minutes later like he owned the place. It was Nick. He’d slipped a plaid flannel shirt over his T-shirt. He’d left the shirt unbuttoned, and the ends hung open at his hips. Delaney sank down in her seat. Drunk or sober, she wasn’t in the mood to face him. He hadn’t mentioned their past when she’d seen him earlier that day, but she still didn’t trust that he wouldn’t.
“Nick!” Lisa waved as she called across the bar. “Where’s Louie?”
He looked toward the booth at Lisa, then his gaze locked on Delaney as he moved toward her. “Sophie called upset about something,” he explained, coming to stand by the table. He paused, then switched his attention to his future sister-in-law. “He asked me to come and get you.”
Lisa scooted across the booth seat and stood. “Would you mind giving Delaney a ride home?”
“That’s okay,” Delaney quickly assured them. She grabbed her crocheted purse and rose to her feet. “I can find my own way.” The room tilted slightly, and she placed a hand on the wall beside her. “I don’t think I’m that drunk.”
The corners of Nick’s mouth pulled into a frown. “You’re wasted.”
“I just stood up a little too fast,” she said and stuck her hand in her peach-colored bag, searching for a quarter. She’d have to call her mother. She really wasn’t looking forward to it, but if she thought her mother would be horrified to see Louie, Nick would send her over the top.
“You can’t drive,” Lisa insisted.
“I wasn’t-heeey!” she called out to Nick’s retreating back as she watched him head across the bar with her purse in his hand. Any other man might have been in danger of looking a little swishy clutching a woman’s peach bag, but not Nick.
She and Lisa followed him out the door and into the black night. She hoped her mother was already in bed asleep. “Damn it’s cold,” she muttered, the mountain chill seeping into her pores. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she practically ran down the sidewalk to keep up with Nick’s long strides. She wasn’t used to summer nights in the mountains of Idaho anymore. In Phoenix temperatures dipped to ninety-four-not fifty-four-and she couldn’t wait to get back.
“It’s not that cold,” Lisa argued as they passed Delaney’s yellow Miata parked by the curb. “You’ve turned into a wimp.”
“You’re a bigger wimp than I am. You always were. Remember when you fell off the monkey bars in sixth grade and cried for three hours?”
“I hurt my tailbone.”
They stopped by Nick’s black Jeep. “It didn’t hurt that much,” she said. “You were just a big wimp.”
“At least I didn’t cry like a baby when I had to dissect a frog in high school.”
“I got frog guts in my hair,” Delaney defended. “Anyone would cry if frog guts flew in their hair.”
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.” Nick sighed like a weary priest and opened the car passenger door. “What did I do to deserve this?”
Lisa pushed the seat forward. “Something sinful I’m sure,” she said and climbed into the back.
Nick laughed and flipped the backrest into place for Delaney. Like a perfect gentleman, he held the door for her. She knew she was drunk, her judgment impaired, but maybe he had changed. She looked at him cast in shadows, only the lower half of his face illuminated by a street lamp. She knew he could charm the pants off anyone when he wanted, and there had been a few times in her life when he’d been uncharacteristically nice to her. Like the time in fourth grade when she’d come out of the market with a plenty pack of Trident and discovered a flat tire on her bicycle. Nick had insisted on pushing it all the way home. He’d shared his candy with her, and she’d given him some of her gum. Maybe he’d actually changed and
“Any time.” A smile curved his sensuous mouth and he handed the purse to her. “Wild thing.”
Chapter Three
Delaney zipped her suitcase and looked about her bedroom one last time. Nothing had changed since the day she’d walked out ten years ago. The rose wallpaper, the lace canopy, and her music collection were all just as she’d left them. Even the snapshots stuck to the vanity mirror were the same. Her things had been kept waiting for her, but instead of feeling comforting and welcoming, the room felt oppressive. The walls were closing in on her. She had to get out.
Now all she had to do was listen to the will and, of course, tell her mother she was leaving. Gwen would do her best to make Delaney feel guilty, and Delaney wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation.
She left the room and headed downstairs to Henry’s office to hear the reading of his will. She’d dressed for comfort in a sleeveless T-shirt dress made of soft blue cotton, and she’d shoved her feet into a pair of platform slides that she could kick off easily during the long drive ahead of her.
At the entrance to the office, a long-time friend of Henry’s, Frank Stuart, greeted her as if he were a doorman at the Ritz-Carlton. “Good morning, Miss Shaw,” he said as she walked into the room. Max Harrison, Henry’s estate lawyer, sat behind the heavy desk and looked up as Delaney entered. She shook his hand and spoke to him briefly before taking a seat beside her mother in the front row.
“Who isn’t here?” she asked, referring to the remaining empty chair next to hers.
“Nick.” Gwen sighed as she fingered the three strands of her pearl necklace. “Although I can’t imagine why Henry would provide for him in his will. He’d tried to reach out many times in the past few years, but Nick threw every attempt back in his father’s face.”
So Henry had attempted a reconciliation. She wasn’t really surprised. She’d always assumed since Henry had failed to produce a legitimate heir with Gwen, he’d eventually turn his attention to the son he’d always ignored.
Less than a minute later, Nick walked into the room, managing to look almost respectable in a pair of charcoal corduroys and a ribbed silk polo the same color as his eyes. Unlike the funeral, he’d dressed for the occasion. His hair was pulled back, and he’d left his earring at home. His gaze moved over the room, then he took the chair next to Delaney. She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye, but he stared straight ahead, feet apart, his hands resting on his thighs. The clean scent of his aftershave teased her nose. She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d called her “wild thing” the night before. She’d ignored him all the way to her mother’s house, feeling the same humiliation she thought she’d overcome years ago. She had no intention of speaking to the jerk now.
“Thank you all for coming,” Max greeted, drawing Delaney’s attention. “In order to save time, I would ask that you hold all questions until I am finished.” He cleared his throat, squared the documents in front of him, and began in his smooth lawyer’s voice, “ ‘I, Henry Shaw, now of Truly, resident of Valley County, State of Idaho, do make and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all Wills and Codicils I have made before this.
“ ‘Article I: I nominate and appoint my trusted friend Frank Stuart as Executor of this Will. I request that no Executor or successor in such capacity shall be required to furnish any sureties on his official bond…’ ”
Delaney looked at a point behind Max’s head and listened with half an ear as he read the part of the will that outlined the duty of the executor. She didn’t care about executor duties. Her mind was filled with more important concerns, like her mother seated on one side and Nick on the other. The two disliked each other intensely. They always had, and the tension that filled the room was almost tangible.
Nick’s shoulder brushed Delaney’s as he placed his elbows on the arms of his chair. His shirt grazed her bare skin, then was gone. Delaney forced herself to remain perfectly still, as if the touch hadn’t happened, as if she hadn’t felt the smooth texture of his sleeve on her skin.
