“Yes, dear,” Jess said. “But before you get yourself all in a lather about this, it was all well meant. And if it had ended in a wedding, we would all have been thrilled. But since it’s not—so be it. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

“But you have to let me live my own life, make my own mistakes, my own plans for the future,” Leigh said. “I know I’ve needed your help before, Mom, but this time you went overboard.”

“And now you’ll be lucky to get invited to the wedding, if there is one,” John warned. “You four are troublemakers. Are you going to behave?”

Oh, they’d behave. They promised.

When John and Leigh left them, he said, “I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall right now.”

“They’re just going to blame each other,” Leigh predicted. “You think our plan is going to work?”

“It’s fail-safe. Trust me.”

And she did. Completely.

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Jess mailed her garden party invitations without sulking. She and Leigh made up and spoke no more about interference; the widows’ brigade got to put in their two-cents’ worth about the party, and the yard was finished a week before the event. Leigh suggested having a string quartet play some music and chose the colors of the garlands and buffet table centerpieces. She visited the caterer with her mother and helped Jess pick out a lovely floral dress to wear.

When Leigh was sure her mother had a handle on everything and could spare her, she requested some babysitting. She wanted to fly to Denver for a couple of days; she needed access to the University of Colorado library for some of her research, and Jess said she could keep the boys.

“I’m a nervous wreck,” Leigh told John.

“Me too. But it’s going to be okay. I don’t even think they’ll yell. My mother will be relieved, and my dad will be secretly very proud.”

“We could have thrown Jess a bone and told her she was right about that much—that you are the boys’ father.”

“I’m afraid it might give her the wrong kind of power,” John said.

They were standing on the sidewalk in front of a modest, suburban house that belonged to John’s parents. Leigh could imagine the activity that must have swelled within the walls of this small, two-story house during the years Mrs. McElroy was raising four boys. Leigh had never been accused of being psychic, but she felt that she would find love and acceptance here, despite her fears.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Wait. What did you tell them? Exactly?”

“That I want them to meet the girl I’m going to marry.”

“And what did your mother say?”

“She said, ‘again?’”

“Oh, boy. I don’t know if I can walk.”

“Come on. Chicken.”

“What else did you say?” she demanded.