Wrong Groom, Right Bride. Patricia Kay

      That’s the reason it bothered him when she said she was leaving Riverton, he decided. Maybe she was more affected by Todd’s desertion than she would have him believe.

      Yet she didn’t seem the type to run away. She definitely had given him the impression she was a stand-and-fight young woman—not the kind who would turn tail and run. Even so, something was making her leave Riverton, and Simon wasn’t sure he bought her reasoning. So he would keep tabs on her for a while … just to make sure she really was okay.

      He’d just arrived at this decision when he pulled into his parking slot at the company’s headquarters. Glancing over, he spotted Mark DelVecchio’s red Porsche. Mark was his CFO, and like Simon, he often worked on Saturdays. Other than Mark’s car, the security guard’s car and the cleaning crew’s van, the parking lot was empty. Well, Simon didn’t blame his staff for wanting to spend a balmy spring day on the golf course or puttering around their houses. This part of upstate New York could still be experiencing a wintry chill in May—in fact, he could remember a few years back when they’d gotten a late snowfall in early May—so a day in the seventies was one to savor.

      “Hey, Russ, how’s it going?” he said to the security guard as he walked past his station by the front entrance.

      “Good, Mr. Hopewell, good. How about you?”

      “I’m great. How’s Erin?” The guard’s fourteen-year-old daughter had fallen earlier in the month and broken her arm.

      “She’s doin’ okay. Hates rehab, though. Complains about it constantly.”

      “Don’t blame her.” Simon remembered his own stint with rehab after a soccer injury in college. “Physical therapy can be tough.” He smiled. “Give your family my best.”

      “I’ll do that.”

      Pleasantries over, Simon headed for the stairs. Bypassing the elevator, he jogged up to the third floor. He was whistling as he walked down the hall toward his corner office.

      “Hey, Simon!” Mark DelVecchio called out.

      Stopping, Simon looked into Mark’s office. Dressed in khaki shorts, a brown golf shirt and deck shoes, Mark leaned back in his leather swivel chair with his feet propped on his desk. “You should be home with Deanna and the girls today,” Simon said.

      “Yeah, I know, but I wanted to go over the budget forecast again.”

      Simon didn’t like the somber note in Mark’s voice.

      “Look, Simon, I know you won’t be happy about this, but I’ve looked at everything, and I’m afraid there’s no way we can pay bonuses this year.”

      Simon nodded unhappily. He’d arrived at the same conclusion. “Maybe if the contract with Petry comes through …”

      “I don’t think it’s going to.”

      Simon hated to admit it, but Mark was probably right. The contract that had once looked so promising now looked as if it might bite the dust. And that disappointment could be laid directly at Todd’s door. If he’d been here the way he was supposed to be to coddle the prospect along—after all, he was the one they knew— maybe the outcome would be different. “The department heads count on those bonuses,” he said, although Mark knew that as well as Simon did. “They’ll be really upset.”

      “I know, but it’s either that or put off retooling indefinitely.”

      Retooling of the plant was essential, Simon felt. His father had ignored the signs of change and refused to face facts. It wasn’t until after his death that Simon had been able to even talk to the board of directors about modernizing the plant. They weren’t happy about spending the kind of money necessary but had finally agreed the company wouldn’t be able to compete in the new global marketplace unless they did. “We can’t put off the retooling,” he finally said.

      For the rest of the afternoon, he studied the company’s financial reports, his department heads’ budgets, the salary forecasts. He looked at the latest bills from the insurance underwriters—rates for both health and life insurance for the employees and their families and fire and hazard insurance for the buildings and equipment had increased again.

      His reluctant conclusion was that although the company was in good shape, in order to meet their long-term goals, some sacrifices were unavoidable.

      Simon put his head in his hands.

      Sometimes he hated his job.

      Chloe hadn’t been able to get Simon Hopewell’s visit out of her mind. For the next few days, she kept thinking about him. He and Todd were so different. Yes, they both had black hair and the square-jawed look of all the Hopewells, but the resemblance ended there. Todd’s eyes were a bright blue, and most of the time they betrayed exactly what he was thinking, whereas Simon’s eyes were an enigmatic, cool gray. Contemplative, serious eyes.

      Todd smiled easily and often—was charming and friendly. Simon was just the opposite—almost stern in his quiet, businesslike demeanor. He rarely smiled and, according to Todd, had no sense of humor at all. Of course, Chloe thought wryly, Todd had made other pronouncements that had turned out not to be true.

      Todd liked to spend money. All through their courtship, he was constantly buying gifts and taking her to expensive places. Simon, on the other hand—again, according to Todd—kept an iron fist on the purse strings.

      Despite this, Simon had generously offered to take care of all the wedding expenses, and his eyes were kind when he made his offer. Certainly Chloe never felt as if he were condescending to her the way his mother had. It had almost seemed like a point of honor with him.

      What would Simon Hopewell think if he knew about the baby she was carrying? Would he be upset? Would he think she had tried to trap Todd? Maybe so. She hated thinking that might be the case. She almost wished she could tell him.

      But that was ridiculous. She could never tell him. Chloe wondered why, suddenly, she felt such a twinge of regret. She told herself it was only because Simon would make such a great uncle, someone her baby could definitely depend upon and look up to.

      She did feel regret about the fact there would be a lack of male influence in her baby’s life. Her father’s death, her uncle Phil’s death in Iraq—there would be no Patterson men to count on. And now, because of Todd’s betrayal, there would be no Hopewell men, either.

      Well, it couldn’t be helped. What was done was done and could not be undone. Nor did she want it to be. Now that Todd had revealed his true colors, she knew she was better off without him, for the one character trait Chloe valued above all others was honesty. A trait Todd obviously did not possess.

      So … good riddance to bad rubbish, as Grandmother Patterson used to say. Chloe and her baby would be just fine on their own. Better than fine. They would be great. But even as she told herself all this, tears slid down her face, and all the doubts and fears she’d thought she’d successfully buried tried to resurface. Angrily, she brushed away the tears. I’m fine. I’m strong. I can do anything.

      Her words were an affirmation, one she’d repeated often throughout her life. And just as they had before they made her feel better.

      Composed now, she headed for the kitchen.

      A nice bowl of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough wouldn’t hurt, either.

      Simon put off going to see his mother until Wednesday. He knew it was cowardly, but he was tired of scenes and this one promised to be a doozy. But since there was a board meeting scheduled for Thursday afternoon, he knew he had to tell her the bad news before then. He called the house Wednesday morning and said he planned to drop by in the afternoon if she were going to be home.

      “As it happens, my bridge club was changed to yesterday, so I’ll be here,” his mother said.

      “I’ll see you around four, then.”

      Simon marshaled his arguments on the drive