got married and had one child...that was your mother. And since I don’t have any nephews or nieces, nor shall I ever, I’d be really happy if you’d call me Aunt Greer.’
She knew she had put him on the spot. How could he refuse...without seeming churlish?
He scowled, and she sensed he had guessed her strategy. She could almost hear him say to himself: The battle is on and she’s won the first round! Jem had drawn Colby over to the table and they were chatting as Jem poured him a mug of coffee, but her own attention was fixed on Jamie as he searched for a response that would make him the winner of the next round. Her mouth threatened to curve in amusement; she primmed it and waited.
‘I thought you looked like Mommy when I saw you on the beach.’ Jamie’s hazel eyes glinted smugly. ‘But you don’t.’ He tilted his small chin and went on in a voice that was meant for her ears only, ‘You’re not nearly as pretty.’
Momentarily shocked, Greer wrapped her arms around herself. A defensive gesture, she knew. Yet why should she feel she would have to defend herself against this child? He was, after all, only seven. ‘You’re right,’ she said evenly, ‘I’m not nearly as pretty as your mother was.’
‘And my dad loved her more than anybody in the world.’
‘Yes, he did.’ Greer fought an urge to take the little boy into her arms and soothe away the hurt and anger she could feel emanating from him. Did Colby realize how deeply affected his son was by the loss of his mother? She hoped so, and she hoped he had the tools to deal with the problem. A summer at the cottage was wonderful for any child...but for this particular child she sensed that more, much more, was needed. ‘Jamie—’ she looped a strand of her hair back over one ear ‘—I think I may have an old photo album with pictures of your mother. Would you like me to fetch it?’
‘Now?’ His glasses slipped down; he flicked them back up onto the bridge of his small nose.
‘Sure...if you like.’
‘Darling.’ Jem touched Greer’s arm. ‘Pour yourself another mug of coffee and let’s all go out onto the veranda. It’s far too nice a morning to waste indoors. Here.’ She handed Jamie a frosted tumbler, and as Colby held the door open, she put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and guided him outside. ‘Try this—lemonade, my own special recipe.’
Colby waited for Greer to follow, but she shook her head. ‘Go ahead,’ she said stiffly. ‘I promised Jamie I’d show him some pictures of Eleanor.’ She hesitated, and then went on in a voice that couldn’t be heard outside, ‘I think it will be good for him—being here, I mean, and getting to know Jem. She has a wonderful way with children.’
She thought she saw Colby’s face soften. ‘She was here for me when my own mother died,’ he said. ‘I was only four, of course, when Dad bought the cottage, but from that very first summer, she was a part of my life. Dad often said how much we both owed her—’
‘She got as much as she gave, Colby—perhaps even more. It’s so often the case, when we reach out to help someone.’
Colby leaned against the wall with one shoulder, and folded his arms. ‘Tell me something,’ he said softly.
Greer felt her heartbeats stumble. ‘If I can.’
‘Why are you so sure you’ll never have any nieces or nephews?’
‘Oh, that.’ Greer looked away from him, fixing her gaze on the pine dresser crammed with Jem’s antique dishes. She shrugged. ‘I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so—’
‘You know what I mean.’ Colby’s voice demanded she look at him; she didn’t. She let her gaze drift to the copper pots and pans dangling from a wooden beam on the ceiling above the sink. ‘When you marry there’s every likelihood in the world that you’ll end up with a horde of nephews and nieces...and if you keep the cottage, you can invite them all here for the summer, to play with your own children.’
Children. The only children she had ever dreamed of having were Colby’s. And that was never to be. The ache in her heart was an old ache, but age made it no easier to bear. ‘I don’t plan on getting married,’ she said, forcing herself at last to meet his gaze...and seeing him frown. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to go and get that old album for Jamie.’ Turning, she quickly left the kitchen, and was thankful to hear no sound of footsteps following her as she hurried along the lobby.
What would he think, she wondered dismally, if he knew that he was the reason she’d never marry, because she had never met anyone who could hold a candle to him? Oh, at first she had made a valiant effort to erase her memories of him and fall in love with someone else... but all she had to show for it were two failed relationships—relationships that had both foundered when the men involved had finally pressed for commitment and intimacy, neither of which she had been able to give, because her heart belonged to Colby.
She blinked back a tear as she crossed the sitting room. How would he feel if he knew she loved him...and loved him in the same single-minded way he’d loved Eleanor?
It was ironic that if she herself hadn’t been so besotted with Colby that she took snaps of him at every opportunity, Eleanor would never even have contrived to meet him, and there would have still been a chance, if only ever-so-faint a chance, that Colby would have waited for her to grow up...
Greer sank onto the hooked rug by the pine corner cabinet, and pulling open the door of the lower cupboard, hauled out a pile of albums. As she reached for the green one, containing photos of Eleanor and Colby, another album tumbled out...a heavy leatherbound brown one...
With a defeated sigh, she took the album in her lap, and let it fall open.
Her eyes blurred as she stared at the five-by-seven enlargement of Colby. No coincidence that the page had opened at this place...it had always been her favorite photo, and she had spent countless hours gazing at it. She found herself smiling now, wistfully, as she recalled the occasion on which she’d taken the original snap....
Jem had made three blueberry pies that breezy August morning, and had arranged two on the sill of the kitchen’s passing window to cool. She’d given Greer the third to take over to Lisa...and when Greer was on her way back, she’d noticed Colby sneaking across the veranda, his purpose blatantly obvious. She’d whipped inside for her camera, and had returned in time to catch Colby with his thumb in a pie.
But a second before she pressed the shutter, he must have sensed her presence. He looked around abruptly, and on seeing Greer, had let out a great guffaw of laughter; she had snapped the picture, and when it was processed a week later, she had felt her insides turn to mush. Colby’s eyes sparkled with laughter and delight, his features were creased in a devastatingly attractive ‘Oh, Lord, caught in the act!’ grin, and his hair had fallen over his brow giving him a devil-may-care look that would have melted the coldest heart.
And her heart hadn’t been cold.
It had been burning hot, with a passion that at the tender age of fourteen had mystified—and frightened—her.
She’d taken the album with her to Australia, when she’d gone there as usual to spend the last fortnight of the summer holidays with her aunt Cecilia, before returning to Toronto and school in the Fall.
Eleanor had, of course, been at home—she invariably chose to spend all her summers with her mother, loving the laid-back life-style...the live-in maid, the endless parties, the attention lavished on her by her mother’s women friends.
And Eleanor had come on Greer one morning as Greer lay on her bed staring at the treasured photo of Colby.
‘What’s this?’ her nineteen-year-old cousin had asked lazily. ‘A picture of some movie star? Don’t tell me you’re one of those mindless teenagers who send adoring fan letters to their current heartthrobs.’
Greer hadn’t answered. Let Eleanor think that if she wanted; she had no desire to share her secret with anyone. But her silence had made Eleanor curious. Her cousin had snatched up the album...and had