transmission. By the time they pulled into the driveway of an old farmhouse, which bore the signs of many coats of paint, Jude was in love.
DESPITE BEING A WIDOW, Jude Foster O’Leary was content with her life most of the time and even happy on occasion. Unfortunately she’d only experienced a very short period being happily in love. And on this last Saturday of November, at her sister Alex’s wedding to the love of her life, Jude had to work at keeping a smile on her face. That was because she’d only been married to Paul O’Leary for two years before he was killed in Afghanistan, and while she was truly happy for her sister, she couldn’t help being miserable for herself.
Paul had left her with an infant son who just turned six a few weeks ago. Jude adored Wesley, even though his appearance was enough like his father’s that sometimes her eyes hurt just looking at him. And she loved the animals she cared for. She loved and respected her father, and she’d always been close to her two sisters, Alex and Carrie. But as anyone who’s ever been in love, or suffered the loss of love, can attest, all that isn’t enough.
Alex was the one in white today, while Jude and Carrie, along with Alex’s daughter, Lizzie, wore floor-length shimmering pink dresses, perfect for the other two ladies, not so much for Jude, who never chose to shimmer for any occasion. Now that the ceremony was over, the bridal party occupied a banquet-length table affording a view of the guests at Fox Creek Country Club. The Fosters had lived in Fox Creek, Ohio, for three generations, so Jude knew most everyone in attendance.
Except the tall guy in the perfectly fitted three-piece suit whose sandy blond hair was meticulously styled in an I-don’t-have-to-try-to-look-like-this way. Jude normally didn’t fixate on men, but when this guy had walked by the table earlier, Jude noticed several details, including the overhead chandeliers reflecting their twinkling lights in his polished shoes. She picked him out of the crowd again as she played with her shrimp cocktail.
“Hey, Carrie,” she said, gently jabbing her younger sister in the arm. “Who’s the slick reality show bachelor sitting at the farthest table to the left?”
Carrie adjusted the glasses that made her look like an adorable nerd. “I’ve seen him before,” she said. “Also that man next to him.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I know now. That’s Lawrence Manning. He’s a dermatologist at the hospital where Daddy works. They’ve been friends for years.”
Jude coughed. “That young guy is a friend of Daddy’s?”
“No, silly. I’m talking about the older guy. I think the younger one is his son. I remember meeting him a couple of years ago when Daddy and I were at a restaurant near the hospital. His name is Ethan or Liam, or...something old-fashioned.”
Liam Manning. The name raced to the forefront of Jude’s mind, but not in a good way. “It’s Liam,” she said. “I remember him, too. We were at a party together when we were kids, maybe ten years old. He was a horrid little monster back then.”
Carrie exaggerated fanning her face with her hand. “Well, he doesn’t look like a monster now.”
Unless monsters came with too-perfect bodies, perfect bronzed skin and aristocratic noses.
“I think you should ask him to dance, Jude,” Carrie said.
“Me? I don’t think this orchestra knows any Western line dances. And I’d only fall over my feet trying to do anything else.”
“Don’t be silly,” Carrie said. “You’re graceful on a horse, why not the dance floor?”
“Because grace isn’t a transferrable quality,” Jude answered. “I think you should ask him to dance. You’re the one with light feet.”
Carrie gave her the cute, conniving smile that Jude had admired for years. “You saw him first.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want him. I was mostly admiring his shoes. Besides, he’s probably married.”
“I don’t think so. I believe I heard Daddy say that Lawrence’s son got a divorce.”
“Oh.” Jude continued looking Liam’s way.
“Doesn’t matter, anyway. Looks like neither one of us will get the chance to dance with Mr. Charming,” Carrie said. She watched her father approach the young man. “I wonder what Daddy’s up to.”
Her father walked up to the Mannings’ table and put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. Martin leaned over, spoke to Lawrence and then into the younger man’s ear. Liam nodded, stood and followed Martin out of the room.
“Now, where could they be going?” Jude said, suddenly suspicious of her father’s motives. “What does Daddy have in common with that guy? He must be thirty years younger than Daddy.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with any of us,” Carrie said. “Are you going to eat the rest of that shrimp?”
Jude wasn’t so sure. Most of what her father did outside his office was about his family. She absently slid the shrimp bowl over to her sister. Martin Foster was a wonderful, generous, supportive father, but she’d bet her sister Alex’s shiny new diamond ring that Martin was up to something. And when Martin Foster was up to something, one of his daughters was usually the reason.
* * *
“NICE PARTY, SIR,” Liam said as he allowed himself to be led toward a quiet alcove away from the festivities. He had a pretty good idea why Martin Foster was taking him away from his table. His father had warned him that Martin wanted to talk to him today about a business matter. The whispered message in his ear confirmed that when Dr. Foster said he needed a few minutes of Liam’s time.
“Thank you, son. It’s nice to see my Alexis so happy.”
Liam sat in a comfortable wing chair and thought about the prime rib he’d signed up for. Though he wasn’t friends with any of the Foster daughters, and didn’t socialize with Dr. Martin Foster, he’d driven down from Cleveland to accompany his own father to the wedding. He figured the prime rib would be the best part of the afternoon and he didn’t want to miss it.
At first Liam didn’t know why his father had insisted he come. Dad had lots of friends among this crowd. Liam was an outsider to Dr. Foster. He recalled only one brief meeting at a restaurant with Martin’s youngest daughter, Carrie. But when his dad mentioned that Dr. Foster might need his services, he donned his best suit and showed up. Liam was good at what he did, and if Dr. Foster needed financial advice, Liam didn’t mind charging for his expertise.
Martin took a seat next to Liam. “Did you know I asked your father to bring you today?” he said.
“Yes, he told me something about your concerns when I got here today. I don’t know a lot, and frankly I was confused because I don’t know Alex, and I’m not part of the medical crowd.”
“This isn’t about Alex. Your father tells me you can do more with a dollar than most people can do with a hundred,” Martin said. “Is that so?”
Liam smiled. “I’m not a magician, sir. A dollar can only go so far today, and there’s not much any of us can do to stretch it. But I like to think I know a bit about managing money.”
“Of course you do! A person doesn’t graduate with honors from the Wharton Business School without having a great deal of economic savvy.”
So Dr. Foster knew something of Liam’s background. “Is that what this is about, Dr. Foster? Do you need some financial guidance?” Liam knew that Dr. Foster was taking care of his ailing wife. Perhaps his insurance was running out and funds had become limited. He took out his wallet and fished out a business card. “You’re welcome to call my office anytime, and we can set up a meeting.”
Martin absently took the card and slipped it in his shirt pocket. “I won’t be coming to your office, Liam. And I don’t