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He'd thought of paper plates as well, and napkins and silly party cups for soda and a good red Bordeaux. There seemed to be very little, Margo mused as they spread the makeshift picnic on the floor, that Josh Templeton didn't think of.
It was a little lowering to realize she had underestimated him all these years. He would be a formidable foe, which he'd proved by one swing of the racket. And she was certain he would be a memorable lover.
Josh caught her staring and passed her a plate. "Problem, duchess?"
"More than likely."
But she enjoyed herself, listening to the children. Ali seemed to brighten shade by shade under Josh's teasing and attention. Poor thing wants a father, Margo mused. She understood the need, the empty ache of it. It had been Thomas Templeton who had helped fill that void for her, and who at the same time, simply by being kind and caring, had made her constantly aware that he was not hers.
She had never had her own—or had had him so briefly she couldn't remember him. Her mother had always been so closemouthed about the man she had married and lost that Margo had been afraid to ask questions. Afraid, she realized, that there had been nothing there, for any of them.
No love, she mused. Certainly no passion.
One more tepid marriage in the world hardly made a difference to anyone. Even those, she thought, involved in it. A good Irish Catholic girl married and had children, as was expected of her. Then accepted God's will with a bowed head. Ann Sullivan wouldn't have mourned and tossed herself, cursing God, into the sea as Seraphina had done. Ann Sullivan had picked herself up, moved on, and forgotten.
And so easily, Margo mused, that there had likely been little to remember. It was as if she had never had a father at all.
And hadn't she sought to fill that lifetime gap with men? Often older men, like Alain, men who were successful and established and always safely beyond commitment. Married men, or oft-married men, or loosely married men with wives who turned a blind eye to an affair as long as their husbands turned a blind eye to theirs.
There had always been a cozy cushion with men who looked at her as a lovely prize to be pampered and fussed over. Displayed. Men who would never stay, which of course only made them more attractive, only more forbidden.
Her stomach shuddered, and she gulped wine to steady it. What a horrible realization, she thought. What a pathetic one.
"Are you all right?" Concerned, Laura laid a hand on her arm. "You've gone pale."
"It's nothing. Just a little headache. I'm going to take some thing." She rose and used every ounce of control she had to walk up the stairs rather than run.
In the bathroom she riffled through the medicine bottles. Her fingers rested on tranquilizers before she shifted them firmly to aspirin. Too easy, she told herself as she ran the water cold. Too easy to pop a pill and make it all go away.
"Margo." Josh came up behind her, took hold of her shoulders. "What's got you?"
"Demon dreams." She shook her head, swallowed aspirin. "It's nothing, just a nasty little epiphany."
She would have turned, but he held her firm so that their faces reflected back at them. "Nervous about opening the shop next week?"
"Terrified."
"Whatever happens, you've already accomplished something important. You've taken this place and made it shine. It's beautiful and elegant and unique. Very much like you."
"And filled with pretenses, priced to sell?"
"So what?"
She closed her eyes. "So what. Be a friend, Josh, and hold on to me for a minute."
He turned her, gathered her close. He heard her loose a long, shuddering breath, and he stroked her hair. "Do you remember that winter when you went on a search for Seraphina's dowry?"
"Umm. I dug up the rose garden and part of the south lawn. Mum was furious and mortified and threatened to ship me off to my aunt Bridgett in Cork." She sighed a little, comforted by the feel of him, the scent of him. "But your father laughed and laughed. He thought it was a great joke and that I showed an adventurous spirit."
"You were looking for something you wanted, and you went after it." His lips brushed her hair to soothe. "That's what you've always done."
"And I've always wanted the unattainable?"
"No." He eased back, tipped up her chin. "The interesting. I'd hate to think you'd stop digging up rosebushes, duchess."
Sighing again, she snuggled her head on his shoulder. "I really hate to admit this, but you're good for me, Josh."
"I know." And he thought it was long past time that she figured that out.
