Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)

Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6) Page 43

“I can’t,” she said quickly. “In fact, I’m tied up for the rest of the week.”

Her rejection shocked him. Until now, she’d always been as eager to see him as he was her. Not wanting to sound possessive or unduly concerned, he murmured, “All week?”

“Yes…and next week, too.”

Her voice had grown fragile. “I see.” He didn’t know what had changed, but clearly something had.

“Listen, Hutch,” she said in a tight voice, “our relationship’s happened very fast, don’t you think? Maybe we should step back and analyze what’s going on between us before we continue.”

“It’s been almost two months. I know what I feel.”

“But do you know what you want? ”

Hutch felt a distinct chill. He had the feeling that she was breaking up with him, but he had no idea why. “Yes,” he countered sharply. “I want you in my life.”

His words seemed to take her aback. After an awkward moment, she said, “I don’t…I need time—to think.”

“About what?” he asked irritably. “Have I done anything to offend you?”

“No, never.” Her voice softened perceptibly.

“Then what’s this needing time all about? Isn’t that rather sudden?”

“I…I need to think, I really do. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best.”

Maybe best for her but def initely not for him. Hutch wanted to argue with her, to f igure out what had changed, but restrained himself. After all, it was up to her to accept or reject his love. Phoebe said nothing, and he was shaken by the loss that tore through him.

If she wanted time, he’d give it to her. Pride wouldn’t allow him to press his point or to plead.

“Tell you what,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “When you’re ready, you contact me.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Phoebe.”

She started to speak again but he couldn’t bear to listen. Gently he replaced the receiver and sat staring into space, wondering what had just happened. In the course of a few minutes she’d ended the most promising relationship of his life. Hutch stayed at his desk for the rest of the afternoon, attacking the paperwork in front of him. At four-thirty, Gail stepped into his off ice. “Is everything all right?” she asked bluntly.

“Yup.” Hutch glanced at her. “Never better. Why do you ask?”

Gail frowned, shaking her head. “For one thing, you’ve been very quiet ever since you got off the phone with John Custer.”

Hutch made a show of studying his watch. “Isn’t it quitting time?” he asked. In other words he had no intention of answering her question.

“Which brings me to something else,” Gail said. “You’re usually on the phone with Ms. Rylander about now.”

“I won’t be seeing Ms. Rylander again,” he said starkly. She didn’t bother to hide her shock. “Why ever not? You’re crazy about her and I know she feels the same way about you.”

“Apparently you and I are both wrong about that.”

The older woman clucked her tongue several times, sounding like an agitated hen. “And you’re going to sit back and do nothing? ”

“Yup.”

“Oh, Hutch, for the love of Mary, don’t be so stubborn.”

“This wasn’t my decision,” he said.

“Did you at least f ind out why?”

“I tried.”

“Try harder.”

Hutch lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “As far as I’m concerned, the ball’s in her court. If Phoebe wants to call me, f ine, but I’m not holding my breath.” He sounded resolute and sure of himself, although he didn’t feel either of those things. Gail hesitated and then, with a f inal shake of her head, left his off ice.

As soon as she shut the door, Hutch exhaled, letting go of the pretense, and his entire body sagged with defeat. For a moment he thought about confronting Phoebe and demanding she tell him what he’d done that was so terrible. He couldn’t think of a single thing to warrant this reaction and felt sick as he contemplated the new fact of his life—what had seemed so promising only hours earlier was now completely and utterly over.

He stayed at the off ice until nearly eight. Then, with a heavy heart, he drove home. Dinner was a frozen entrée he shoved in the microwave and ate in front of the television.

His phone rang twice but he didn’t pick up. Whoever had called wasn’t interested in leaving a message, which was f ine because he wasn’t interested in listening to one, either. The late-night news f lashed across the screen, and Hutch realized he’d been staring at the television for hours, but couldn’t remember anything he’d seen. No matter how many times he went over his conversation with Phoebe, he couldn’t explain her sudden decision—or was it sudden?—to end their relationship. Needless to say, Hutch didn’t sleep well that night or the next. He kept busy at work, met with his attorney and made every effort not to think about Phoebe. He didn’t succeed but pretended he had. The lawsuit occupied his mind when he wasn’t dwelling on Phoebe.

To her credit, Gail didn’t mention Phoebe’s name again, and neither did he. Every now and then he caught his assistant watching him, looking for any telltale sign. What she hoped to f ind, he didn’t know. Perhaps Gail expected to uncover some crack in his resolve, some indication that he was weakening. But if anything, Hutch grew more convinced that he simply wasn’t cut out for love or marriage. He’d laid his heart on the line and Phoebe had ripped it to shreds without cause or provocation. If this was love, then he wanted no part of it. He had a good life, albeit a lonely one, but he was used to that. As for children, he had his niece and nephew and God willing, eventually one of them, or both, would take over the family business. Otherwise he’d sell out, which he might have to do anyway, depending on the outcome of the court case. Friday afternoon, f ive days after that last conversation with Phoebe, Hutch left the off ice even later than usual. It was mid-August now, and in his opinion no place on earth was more beautiful than the Pacif ic Northwest on a hot summer’s day when the sky was blue and Mount Rainier glimmered like an apparition in the distance.

It was almost nine, but there was still plenty of sunshine. He was walking toward his parking space when he saw her. Phoebe.

She stood next to his car, waiting for him. Hutch stopped and instantly squelched the surge of joy he felt at seeing her. He wouldn’t allow her to toy with his feelings. Not again. Apparently this was some game to her. A game he wasn’t willing to play.

He strode decisively to his car, each step f illed with purpose.

“Hello, Hutch,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered brokenly. “I tried, but I can’t do it.”

He held his briefcase with both hands and just stared at her. He supposed she expected him to ask her questions or show how grateful he was to see her. He wouldn’t do either. She frowned. “Say something,” she pleaded.

He shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. “You might tell me you…that you missed me.”

He pressed his lips together, refusing to tell her any of that even if it was true.

She raised her hand as though to touch his face. Hutch retreated a step.

She covered her mouth with one hand and began to sob. His resolve f inally faltered but he wouldn’t let himself succumb to her tears, although it was impossible to remain stoic and indifferent to her pain.

“The thing is, I’ve discovered I can do it, Phoebe.” He reached for his door handle. “I can live without you.”

“There’s something you don’t know.”

He stiffened, his back to her.

“Clark Snowden…”

At the mention of the plaintiff ’s attorney, he turned to face her. “What about him?”

“He was…he was my f iancé.”

The words slammed into him with a force that was actually physical. He couldn’t have spoken had his life depended on it.

“I knew if Clark found out you’re the man I love, he’d do everything in his power to hurt you. I—I thought the only way to protect you was to break off our relationship…but I can’t do it. I tried and I just can’t. I’m too self ish and needy, Hutch, and I love you too much.”

His briefcase fell to the pavement as he hauled her into his arms, holding on as if they’d both perish otherwise.

“You should have told me.” His need for her was an ache that shot through him, that burned within him.

“I couldn’t…. I was afraid.”

Then they were kissing, straining against each other, trying to undo f ive days apart, f ive days of agony. Hutch tasted her salty tears and kissed them from her cheeks.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered, clinging to him.

“Clark will try to destroy you…to ruin the business and discredit you. I can’t stand by and let him.”

“I know exactly what I’m going to do,” he said. “It’s simple. I’m going to win this lawsuit and then I’m going to marry you, if you’ll agree.”

He’d half lifted her from the pavement and with her arms around his neck, Phoebe sobbed her answer. “Yes, yes! Oh, Hutch, yes! I want to marry you more than anything in the world. I want to spend my life with you.”

That was good to hear, because he wanted her with him for the rest of his, too. Nothing mattered but loving Phoebe. Snowden could do whatever he would; it made no difference to Hutch as long as he had Phoebe.

Chapter 32

Anne Marie Roche

Tim walked out to the curb to meet Anne Marie and Ellen as she parked her car outside his parents’ house. Vanessa stood on the porch, waiting, making sure Anne Marie knew she was watching every move.

This had been Tim’s idea, bringing Ellen over to meet his parents. The f irst time, it would be just his mother and father; later he planned to introduce her to his siblings. Ellen needed to feel comfortable with Vanessa, too. Anne Marie hoped the air had been cleared, that there wouldn’t be any problems between her and the other woman. Maybe Vanessa needed further reassurance that she had no designs on Tim. Ever eager to see her father, Ellen unfastened her seat belt and hurtled out of the car and to his side. Without a pause, she threw her arms around his middle, then immediately asked, “Did you bring your motorcycle?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

Ellen nodded enthusiastically.

Anne Marie climbed out of the car and waved to Vanessa, who halfheartedly returned the gesture. Even from this distance, Anne Marie could see that the other woman didn’t want her there.

Anne Marie hoped she’d have the opportunity to tell her that she wouldn’t always be accompanying Ellen to Tim’s family events. On this f irst occasion, however, she felt it was important to be there.

By the time she reached the porch steps, Tim and Ellen were in the garage examining Tim’s Harley.