1
FOR GENERATIONS, scandal had haunted the McBrides like an avenging spirit. At times, Trevor McBride felt as if the sole purpose of his family’s existence had been to provide fodder for the avid gossips of Honoria, Georgia. Yet up until now, he had considered himself immune to the curse.
A straight-A student in high school, town baseball star, college scholarship winner and distinguished graduate, he’d gone directly from law school to Washington, D.C., where he’d quickly earned notice as an up-and-coming young statesman. His marriage to a woman from a distinguished and scandal-free old Virginia family had produced two beautiful children, and had generally been regarded to be happy and successful.
Trevor had managed to evade his family legacy for thirty-one years. But he’d just discovered, to his chagrin, that scandal would not accept rejection from a McBride. And when it finally made an appearance in Trevor’s life, it did so with a vengeance. He was finally learning to ignore the whispers, for the most part, but he had never learned to accept them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Martha Godwin and Nellie Hankins watching him as he pushed a grocery cart down the cereal aisle. Their mouths moved rapidly and he had no doubt he was the subject of their conversation—even though, unlike the scandalmongers in D.C., they didn’t know the unpleasant details of his wife’s death nearly a year earlier. No one in Honoria knew, and Trevor intended to keep it that way. “Come on, Sam,” he said. “Stop dawdling.”
His five-year-old son had stopped to examine a particularly enticing box. “Can we get this one, Daddy?”
Trevor glanced at it. Chocolate puffs with chocolate-flavored marshmallows. “Don’t think that’s a good choice, son. Let’s stick with what we’ve got. Now, come on. Abbie’s getting hungry.”
“Me, too.” Sam abandoned the sugar-laden cereal and hurried after his father and sister. “Can I have a Fun Meal? They’re giving away race cars this week.”
Looking at the shopping cart filled with nutritious food, Trevor almost sighed at his son’s daily request for a dry burger and greasy fries accompanied by an inexpensive toy. He tried to give in to the request no more than a couple of times a month. “Not tonight, Sam.”
From her seat in the shopping cart, fourteen-month-old Abbie babbled something incomprehensible. Trevor gave her a distracted smile and pushed the cart past the gossip mavens, hoping they would be content to talk about him without feeling the need to talk to him. Maybe if he pretended not to notice them…
“Trevor. Oh, Trevor, dear.”
He would have cursed if his children hadn’t been listening. Reluctantly realizing a conversation was inevitable, he stopped and turned, feeling Sam crowding close to him. He made no effort to smile, but he spoke cordially enough. “Good evening, Mrs. Godwin.”
Nellie Hankins, he noticed, had bustled away. No Hankins would be seen associating with a McBride—the result of another old scandal.
Martha Godwin, blessed with all the tact of a tornado, moved to stand directly between him and the cash registers. “How have you been, Trevor? We haven’t seen you around much lately.”
“I’ve been busy, Mrs. Godwin.”
Her expression changed to one he detested, but had seen far too often during the past year—cloying pity. “Poor dear. It must be so difficult for you trying to raise these two adorable children on your own.”
Sam pressed his face more tightly into Trevor’s leg. Sam hated having attention focused on him—especially this sort of attention. Abbie babbled and crammed her fist in her mouth, slobbering enthusiastically.
“Precious child,” Martha crooned.
Abbie blew bubbles, making a sound that summed up the way Trevor was feeling. “Excuse me, Mrs. Godwin, the kids are hungry. Goodbye.”
He moved the cart forward so that she was forced to move aside or risk losing a few toes. She left in a dignified huff when it became obvious that she would pry no interesting comments out of Trevor today.
“Guess you put that old battle-ax in her place.” The supermarket checker spoke with a satisfaction that bespoke her experience of being on the wrong end of Martha’s gossip.
Ignoring her, Trevor waited impatiently to escape the supermarket and get back to the blessed privacy of his own home.
ON THE FIRST DAY of her summer vacation, Jamie Flaherty sighed happily and wiggled her brightly painted toenails, letting the sun soak into her mostly bared skin. She wouldn’t stay out long, she promised herself, thinking of all the damage excessive exposure could do to a woman’s skin. But it felt so good to just sit and soak up rays for a few blissfully lazy moments.
In the end, it was vanity that forced her to move into the protective shade of a poolside awning. A few months away from her twenty-ninth birthday, she had n