The Inn at Eagle Point

As soon as her sister was out of earshot, Abby turned to her father. He looked tired, but otherwise robust. There were threads of gray in his curly, reddish-blond hair, but his broad shoulders and trim waistline testified that he was still maintaining his fitness regimen even with all the traveling and dining out he did. His complexion was ruddy from working outdoors and there were a few more lines around his blue eyes, which were filled with concern as he stared after Jess.

“Gram called you, didn’t she?” Abby asked him.

He hesitated for a split second, then nodded. “She wanted me to know you and the girls were here. I caught the first flight I could get, so I could spend a little time with you. It’s been a long time since you’ve graced us with your presence down here.”

“Too long,” she admitted. “Was that all she told you?”

Mick went to the counter and poured himself a cup of tea, then sat down without replying. He stirred sugar into the strong brew and took a sip, then met Abby’s gaze. “Sure. Is there something else going on?”

“Don’t play games with me, Dad. You’re really back because she told you Jess is in trouble.”

His lips twitched at that. “Did she really? Are you a mind reader now? Or did you eavesdrop on a private conversation?”

“Of course not.”

“Then take what I’m telling you at face value,” he ordered. “It’s better that way. Now tell me where my darling girls are.”

“Asleep, I hope,” she said. “And we’re not going to wake them up at this hour. I’ll never get them back to sleep if we do. They’ll be too excited if they see you. You can spend all day tomorrow with them.” She gave him a stern look. “And no spoiling them rotten, either. I think you bought all the toys in FAO Schwarz the last time you were in New York.”

“It’s a grandfather’s privilege to do a little spoiling,” he argued. “That’s what we’re meant to do.”

Abby rolled her eyes. A few days of all that extra attention from Gram and now Mick, and the twins would be little terrors by the time she got them back to New York.

She realized that Mick was studying her over the rim of his cup. “You look worn-out, Abby. You’re working too hard.”

“That’s the nature of what I do.”

“Does it leave you enough time for those sweet girls?”

“Not really,” she admitted, then added pointedly, “but you should know better than anyone what it’s like to make hard choices, to do what’s best for your family.” In some ways they were two of a kind, which she supposed made at least some of her criticism sound hypocritical.

“I do know about hard choices,” he said, not taking offense. “And you should know as well as anyone what the cost was. I lost a woman I loved. And not a one of you could wait to leave this place. So what good did all this money and success do for me in the end?”

“Jess is still here.”

“And not a day goes by that I don’t wonder why.”

“I think I know the answer to that,” Abby said. “She loves it here, more than the rest of us ever did. And she’s still trying to prove herself to you, here, in a place that once meant everything to you. I think she believes it will create a bridge between you eventually.”

“There’s nothing she has to prove. My love for you, Jess, Bree and your brothers is unconditional.”

Abby saw that he honestly believed it was that simple and that obvious. She decided to be candid for once, rather than skirting around the real issues this family had. “Dad, when Mom left, you might as well have. From that moment on, you passed through our lives when you could spare a few days, but you didn’t know anything about us. For Connor, Kevin, me and even Bree, it was hard, but we were almost grown by then. Jess was still a little girl.”

He frowned at that. “What are you talking about? I knew everything there was to know about all of you. I knew when you were sick. I knew when one of you won an award at school or scored a touchdown. I was there for graduation. I paid the bills for college and saw the report cards.”

Abby’s temper stirred. “And you thought those things were all that mattered? A private investigator could have told you any of that stuff, though of course in your case it was Gram who filled you in. We needed our father here, cheering for us, drying our tears, calling us on it when we made mistakes.”

His cheeks flushed and his tone turned defensive when he reminded her, “You always had your grandmother for that.”

“And she was wonderful. She did all of those things, but she wasn’t you or Mom.” Abby shook her head, resigned to the fact that he would never understand. “What’s the point of fighting about this now? It’s all water under the bridge. We survived. Not every kid has an idyllic family, and our lives were certainly better than most.”

“I did the best I could,” Mick protested.

She gave him a pitying look. “Perhaps you did, but you know what? Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest, but I remember a time when you were better than that.”

She stood up then, rinsed out her own cup and put it in the dishwasher. “Good night, Dad. The girls are going to be thrilled to see you in the morning.”

She wished she could say the same. Though she knew with everything in her that he’d come home to try in some way to help with Jess’s predicament, she had this awful feeling that his presence was only going to make things worse.

Sunday morning Trace was sitting on the family’s dock, his feet dangling in the water, when Laila appeared. In her short shorts, halter top and with her long blond hair caught up in a careless ponytail, she looked about sixteen, not twenty-nine.

She handed him an icy can of soda. “How’s the prodigal son?” she inquired, kicking off her flip-flops and dropping down beside him on the smooth wood that had been warmed by the sun. Overhead, an eagle swooped through the air, then settled high in an old oak tree to watch over the scene from his lofty perch.

“Chomping at the bit to get back to New York,” he responded. “Which I could do if you weren’t so obstinate.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, admit it. You like being here.”

“For a visit,” he insisted. “I’ve never wanted any part of the bank. That was your dream, not mine.”

“Unfortunately, Daddy doesn’t see it that way. In his male-dominated world, the family estate must go to the eldest son. Daughters get whatever’s left over.”

He frowned at her. “Not the way I heard it. Dad said he offered you a position at the bank.”

“Did he happen to mention what that position was?”

“The same one I’m in, I assume.”

“Well, you assume wrong. He expected me to work as Raymond’s assistant, which, in case you haven’t figured out the pecking order there yet, amounts to a clerical job that any high school kid could do.”

Trace winced. “That was not the impression he gave me.”

“Ask him, if you don’t believe me.”

Unfortunately, Trace believed her. It would be just like his father to dangle a job in front of Laila, knowing that it was beneath her and that she’d turn it down. Then he could claim—as he had to Trace—that he’d given her a chance.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter, but Trace knew better.

“Don’t be sorry,” she claimed anyway. “It was just Dad being his usual sexist self. I’m used to it by now.”

“I don’t know if it helps, but I’ve told him you’re the one he should be grooming to take over.”

“Oddly enough, it does help.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before she glanced his way. “Abby’s in town. Did you know that?”

“I’d heard she might be coming for a visit,” he replied neutrally.