Remember to Forget Page 24

  They crossed Main and walked past the inn. Seeing Wren inside, Trevor tapped on the window as they went by. Wren waved from the dining room.

  Maggie waved back. “I sure hope we get a good turnout for Wren’s sake.”

  “Didn’t you say you already have a bunch of reservations?”

  “Seven now. To fill the inn, we’d need four more couples—five if you count my room.”

  Trevor looked askance at her. “You might have to give up your room?”

  She shrugged. “I guess if we get enough reservations.”

  “Where would you go?”

  “I don’t know . . . but it would almost be worth it to have a sell-out crowd.”

  They walked past two vacant storefronts and an antique shop that had declined the posters. Before Maggie realized it, they were standing in front of the door to Jackson Linder’s gallery. Maggie turned to look up at Trevor, not sure how he’d feel about seeing Jack.

  “Jack let you hang a poster?”

  She nodded. “I think maybe things have simmered down a little between him and Wren. Do you want me to take care of this one?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ll go with you.”

  Jack hadn’t been in the gallery the first week the posters went up, and last week he’d been there, but a customer came in at the same time Maggie brought the poster, and he called his mother out to talk to Maggie. Twila Linder seemed a little cool toward Maggie, and she had wondered if the woman was upset because she hadn’t come to work for Jackson. Or maybe it was because she was a friend of Wren’s.

  Today Jack was behind the counter. He looked up when they came in, and a shadow darkened his face when he saw Trevor. But he stood and came to greet them. He seemed altogether sober.

  Trevor put out his hand. “Hey, Jack. Good to see you, man.”

  Jack took his hand, and Trevor drew him into a brief embrace.

  Jack stiffened, Maggie noticed, but he didn’t squirm away. When they’d stepped apart, Jack nodded at her, but didn’t make small talk as he had before when she’d come in. Maybe this was the real Jack, and it was the liquor that made him so friendly before.

  The tension was thick in the space between the two men, but Maggie sensed that Trevor’s affection for Jackson Linder was genuine. It still amazed her, knowing what had happened between these two men, that Trevor had managed to forgive Jack.

  “You have another poster to hang up?” Jackson nodded toward the stack of posters lopped over Trevor’s arm, but his question was directed at Maggie.

  “Well, we’re replacing the old ones.” She explained the campaign briefly to him. “This is the last one though. After next weekend you can toss it. Or we’ll come in and take it down if you like.”

  “It’s a nice-looking piece.”

  Trevor put a hand lightly on her back. “Meg designed the series.”

  She ducked her head. “Thanks.”

  Jackson eyed Trevor but addressed Maggie. “If you change your mind about work”—he pointed back toward the studio—“give me a call. I could really use an assistant.”

  “Meg’s been working pretty much full-time at the inn.” There was no trace of animosity in Trevor’s voice, but his hand pressed more firmly into the small of her back.

  Jack seemed to ignore Trevor’s comment and stared pointedly at her. “You have my number, if you change your mind.” He nodded toward the posters Trevor held. “It’s obvious you have some strong artistic skills.”

  Maggie’s gaze ping-ponged from Trevor to Jack and back again, wondering how she’d gotten caught up in this odd tug of war between them. The way his hand slipped from her back to her waist made her wonder for a minute if Trevor was jealous. Kevin had been an insanely jealous boyfriend. She hadn’t been able even to look at another guy’s photo in a magazine—never mind innocently chatting with a male clerk at the grocery store—without him blowing up and giving her the third degree.

  But this was something different. Trevor’s possessiveness didn’t seem to be about his insecurities so much as it was about watching out for her best interests. Still, it gave her pause. She’d been in one relationship with a man who thought he owned her. Did she want that again? Not that Trevor had made any claims on her. She was very aware of that. In fact, he’d seemed careful to offer merely friendship and a brotherly shoulder to lean on.

  She took a step away. Trevor’s hand left her back.

  “Thank you, Jack. I appreciate the offer. I’ll let you know if anything changes.” She reached to take a poster off the dwindling stack Trevor held. “I’ll go put this up.”

  Leaving the men to mentally duke it out, she hurried to the front of the store and took down last week’s poster.

  “Are you ready?” Trevor stood behind her, close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck.

  She finished taping up the new poster, then turned and nodded without meeting his eyes. Her mind raced, still trying to sort out her conflicting emotions. She wanted to belong to Trevor. The realization startled her. She’d never felt this way about any other man. But now that she’d come to know Trevor, know his selfless care for her, she knew she would feel somehow incomplete without him in her life. If he ever opened his heart to her, she was a goner.

  But the old fears niggled at her. Trevor didn’t know of her deceit yet. Wren had promised to keep quiet until Maggie had a chance to tell him everything. Maggie lived in fear that Wren would forget and call her by her real name.

  Sometimes she wondered if the barriers her lies had erected between her and Trevor were for the best. After all she’d been through with Kevin, maybe it was wrong to let her life become entwined again. Would that be fair to Trevor, who deserved so much more?

  She left the gallery and started down the street toward the small hardware store that was next on their list. She heard Trevor tell Jack good-bye, then the thud of his shoes on the pavement, running to catch up with her. She didn’t look back.

  “Hey, you. Slow down, will you?”

  She slowed her pace but kept her eyes straight ahead.

  “Meg?”

  She took the six steps to the hardware store’s entry two at a time.

  “Wait up, Meg.”

  She turned, one hand on the door, to study him. What she saw in his eyes scared her to death. Because what shone there she didn’t deserve.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  She shook her head, not knowing how to explain to him the torment she was experiencing. But she hadn’t imagined it. Looking head-on into his eyes now, she saw his love for her. His compassion. Clear and bright as his blue eyes. Yet how could this be? How could he possibly love her? Maybe she was fooling herself.

  “Meg?”

  Hearing him speak that name, she came to her senses. Trevor Ashlock couldn’t love her. He didn’t know her. Didn’t even know her real name.

  She stopped short when she spied a gaily wrapped package lying on the end of the bed.

  Chapter Forty

  Maggie walked through her room and checked the bathroom one last time, making certain she’d packed up all her personal belongings. She tried to view the room through the eyes of the guests who would occupy it for the next two nights.

  Operation Wren’s Nest had been a smash hit. Every room in the inn was reserved for the entire weekend.

  Wren hadn’t argued too much when Maggie offered to give up her room but had insisted she stay with them in their little upstairs apartment for the next couple of days. “You take our spare bedroom. It’s tiny and the walls are thin—you might have to listen to Bart snore—but it’s not like any of us are going to get much sleep this weekend anyway.” Wren heaved a weary sigh.

  For a moment Maggie felt worried and responsible for Wren’s exhaustion. After all, this whole open house was her idea.

  But Wren seemed to sense her guilt and immediately launched into a chorus of praise for the idea’s success. “I won’t deny that I’ll be happy when this crazy weekend is over. And believe me, the first
thing I’m doing with our earnings Monday morning is hiring you to clean up the place.”

  Maggie laughed at that and promised to pitch in.

  Now, standing in the pleasant room that had been her home for five weeks, she felt a little sad. Once again, she’d packed the sum of her belongings into a small canvas bag. A chill skittered between her shoulder blades where the strap of the bag rested. Would she really move back into this room Sunday night after the last guest went home? Or would it be time to move on?

  Clayburn had become home for her. She couldn’t imagine where else she would go. Except maybe to Jenn and Mark’s. But she couldn’t intrude on their life. With Mark out of work, they had enough to worry about.

  No time to think about it now. She brushed her palm across the bedspread, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle. Guests would start arriving in an hour, and there was still much to do, not the least of which was to shower and try to make her hair look presentable.

  She carried her things up to the spare bedroom in Bart and Wren’s apartment and stopped short when she spied a gaily wrapped package lying on the end of the bed.

  She stooped to inspect it. The tag said simply, “Meg.”

  Curious, she slipped off the ribbon and carefully removed the wrapping paper. Lifting the lid, she caught her breath. Inside was a simple, flowing summer dress in a tiny red and yellow print. She giggled. She would coordinate perfectly with the remodeled dining room and kitchen.

  She shook the dress out and held it up. It was feminine and pretty and looked like a perfect fit. She inspected the tag. Made especially for you by: Wren Johannsen.

  Tears stung Maggie’s eyes. How in the world had Wren found time to sew her a dress amidst all the preparations for the open house?

  She hummed through her shower and, twenty minutes later, dressed, and with her hair swept up on top of her head, Maggie practically floated down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Wren was removing a heavy pan of lasagna from the oven. Maggie twirled in the cramped space between two linen-clad tables. “Thank you, Wren! It’s beautiful. I love it.”

  Wren slipped off her oven mitts, brushed a wisp of white hair from her forehead, and looked up. “Oh, honey. You are beautiful. Does it fit all right? I could take it in if you think—”

  “Oh, no, it’s perfect! I don’t know when you ever had time to work on it without me knowing.”

  Wren wriggled her eyebrows Groucho Marx style, and Maggie laughed. “Oh, I pulled a couple of late-nighters, don’t think I didn’t. But it was worth every minute. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, Wren.” Maggie crossed the room, arms outstretched. She wrapped Wren in a hug, her throat too full to speak.

  Wren hugged her back, then waved her off. “It was fun to make. Did you notice how pretty you look with the décor?”

  Maggie trotted over to stand between a set of new curtains and the archway she’d painted to match. She struck a comical pose. Wren rewarded her with a gleeful laugh. Her life was so different here that sometimes she forgot who she used to be. She wanted only to remember the now . . . not what happened before.

  At Wren’s strict instructions, Trevor parked around back, leaving plenty of room for guests to park on Main Street and along Elm on the south side of the inn. He let himself in the back door and walked down the long hall to the lobby. Several of the rooms along the hallway were open, showing off crisply made beds and small vases of flowers on each desk—specially arranged for this occasion. A couple of closed doors already had Wren’s whimsical DO NOT DISTURB signs hanging on the handle, an indication that some guests had already checked in.

  He entered the lobby and stood in awe of the transformation. The sofa had been moved in close to the fireplace, and four small table-and-chair sets were placed strategically around the room. Through the arched doorway, he could see half a dozen more tables for two, each layered with white linens and set with the fancy red and white dishes that had been Wren’s mother’s. Unlit candles and vases of bright flowers decorated the center of each table.

  Meg’s dozens of candles glowed in the fireplace, and he chuckled to see white Christmas lights twinkling in the windows throughout the lobby and the dining area. He’d have to give her a hard time about that.

  She chose that instant to scurry around the corner. When she saw him, she stopped short, perfectly framed beneath the archway.

  Trevor could only stare. All thoughts of razzing the woman evaporated, and the only word filling his mind at the moment was . . . stunning.

  Careful, Ashlock. She’s not yours.

  Meg smiled, obviously unaware of his emotions. “Oh. Trevor. It’s you. Hey, can you come help Wren and me move this table?” She whirled and disappeared back into the dining room.

  He stood, transfixed, until she appeared in the doorway again. “Hey, you coming or not?”

  He stared. Meg, in a dress that hugged her form in all the right places. She moved, and the hem swished against shapely calves that led to dainty ankles and sandal-clad feet. Her hair was swept off her neck with tendrils brushing her cheeks in a style that was most becoming.

  “Wow. You look . . . stunning.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink, making her look prettier than ever. He half expected her to run back to the kitchen, but she surprised him by taking his hand and pulling him into the kitchen.

  “Good grief.” She muttered under her breath. “You’d think the man had never seen a woman in a dress before.”

  He laughed. “I’ve never seen this woman in a dress before.” He gave a low whistle.

  She rewarded him by twirling around and dipping in a little curtsy. “Wren made it for me. Isn’t it great?”

  He could only nod and grin like the village idiot. “Wren did an extremely nice job,” he finally stammered.

  Wren and Meg laughed at him.

  “You look pretty spiffy yourself.” Meg nudged him toward the table where Wren was standing. “We want to move this table about a foot this way.” She pointed to the window at the back of the room. “But we’d like to do it without taking everything off. Doable?”

  He studied the table with its pressed linens, vase of flowers and candlestick, assessing the situation. “If we each take a corner and go slow, we can do it. Ready?”

  Wren and Meg each claimed a corner and he took the side opposite. “One . . . two . . . three.” They lifted and headed toward the window. For one breath-holding moment the water glasses swayed and the dishes rattled, but everything righted itself and Wren stepped back to survey the room.

  She nodded her approval and brushed off her hands. “Okay, I’m headed to my room to change and get Bart on the ball. Can you two handle any early arrivals and make sure nothing burns down here?”

  “Got it.” Trevor gave a sharp salute. “What else needs doing?”

  Wren bit her lip, obviously clicking off her mental list. She checked the clock. “It’s probably not too early to light the candles on the tables. If you guys would do that. Oh, and Trevor, put some nice music on, would you? Some of that elevator music you’re always listening to.”

  He chuckled. “Wren, those are the great masters of music you’re talking about . . . the classics. C’mon . . . elevator music?” He shook his head and harrumphed.

  Wren waved him off. “Whatever. And in ten minutes or so you can ice and fill the water glasses. I started the coffee, but you might keep an eye on it.”

  Meg laughed and put her hands on Wren’s shoulders, steering her toward the door. “Go, Wren. You obviously have everything under control here. I don’t think we can goof anything up in the next twenty minutes. Go.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m going.” She started out of the room, then pivoted to face them. “Thanks for everything, you two. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  Trevor winked at Meg, then told Wren, “I have a feeling you would have done just fine.”

  Wren waved him off again with a “pshaw” for good measure, then hustled up the stairs to the apartment.<
br />
  “The place looks nice,” he said, once he and Meg were alone.

  She followed his gaze around the room and out to the lobby. “It does, doesn’t it? I’m just glad we filled the rooms. I have a feeling Wren spent all her profit putting this together.”

  “Yes, but maybe it will get some word of mouth going. Maybe even start some traditions for some couples. Let people know they don’t have to leave town to get a little vacation.”

  “Exactly.”

  He went to put on some music in the CD player in the lobby. When he came back, Meg was rummaging through kitchen drawers. She came up with a couple of propane lighters and handed one to Trevor. “Here, I’ll do the lobby if you’ll light the ones in here. And don’t forget the candles on the window sills.”

  “Got it.”

  He watched her sail out to the lobby and bend to light the candle centerpiece on a table there. He shook himself a little and forced his mind to the task Meg had assigned him. He was falling for her. And hard.

  “Hello, Maggie. Or is it Meg?” She fought for enough air to breathe his name.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Through the front lobby windows, Maggie watched two sets of headlights pull up to park in front of the inn. She thought she heard car doors slam out on Elm Street too. Her heart beat a little faster. It seemed everyone was arriving at once.

  She lit the last candle and tucked the lighter out of sight on the front desk. She made one last survey of the room, and her heart swelled. It looked utterly delightful. With candles everywhere, minilights twinkling in the windows, and Mozart filling the air, the effect was every bit as romantic as they’d promised in the ad campaign. Not to mention the mouthwatering aromas coming from the kitchen. It was promising to be a night to remember.

  She smoothed the front of her dress and prepared to greet their guests.

  Kaye DeVore and her husband were the first of the new group to come in. Before they were even all the way inside, they gawked and started oohing and aahing over the inn’s transformation. Kaye was looking proudly expectant in a maternity version of the little black dress. Her hair was curled becomingly about her round face, and she wore a little lipstick, but her glow came from within.