Reunited With The Billionaire. Sandra Marton

somebody in Stockbridge, and a couple of years ago he opened his own shop here.” Alison hesitated. “He still doesn’t know you’re coming home?”

      “No.” Wendy looked at Alison. “Not unless you told him. You didn’t, did you? Allie?”

      “Of course not,” Alison said, a little stiffly. “You asked me not to.”

      “Sorry.”

      “That’s all right.”

      It wasn’t, and Wendy knew it. She reached across the console and touched the other woman’s hand.

      “Allie,” she said in a low voice, “it’s…it’s harder than I figured, you know? Coming home, I mean. So much time’s gone by…” She swallowed hard. “Maybe I’m more tired than I realized.”

      “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to jump on you.” The light changed to green and Alison stepped on the gas. “I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to see him. I mean, it’s been a long time, but you and Seth—”

      “There is no `me and Seth.’ There hasn’t been for years.”

      “Yeah. That’s the point. When you left for Norway, you two were crazy about each other. The next thing we knew, it was all over. Seth wouldn’t talk about you, wouldn’t even say your name. And then you didn’t come back, and we all wondered—”

      “There’s nothing to wonder.” Wendy’s voice turned cool. “I’d think people would have better things to do with their time than gossip.”

      “It wasn’t gossip.” Alison slowed the car again, signaled a right and turned into the Burger Barn parking lot. She pulled into a space, shut off the engine and looked at Wendy. “We all cared about you. The whole town turned out to see you off. Remember? There were signs in the windows on Main Street, everything from Good Luck to Our Wendy to Bring Back the Gold. When you got hurt—”

      “Allie.” Wendy put her hand over Alison’s. “That’s history. The Olympics, the accident, Seth…it’s all in the past. I have a new life now.”

      “So does he.”

      The simple words fell between them, as heavy as stones. Wendy looked at Alison. “You mean, that he’s become a carpenter?”

      “Well, sure.” Alison fell silent, averted her gaze. “And—and other things.”

      “Other things?” Wendy moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Ah. I see.” Could she sound casual about this? Yes. Of course she could. Funny that she’d never thought to ask before. “You mean, he’s married?”

      “No. But he’s seeing someone. Her name’s—”

      “I don’t need to know her name. Who Seth dates is none of my business.”

      “It’s more than dating. They’ve been going together for a couple of months.” Alison shot a glance in Wendy’s direction. “I guess I shouldn’t have dumped the news on you like that, huh?”

      “Don’t be silly.” Wendy stretched her lips in what she hoped was a semblance of a smile. “You know, if we sit here much longer, we’ll freeze.”

      “Meaning, `Alison, that’s enough of that.’“

      Wendy tried another smile. “Meaning, did you or didn’t you promise me a hamburger at the Barn?”

      “Yeah, sure,” Alison said, but she didn’t move. “There’s one other thing. I know you said this was just a visit, but I hoped… You really aren’t staying, are you.”

      Wendy shook her head. “No,” she said quietly, “I’m not.” She looked at Alison. “Does the name Rod Pommier mean anything to you?”

      “Should it?”

      “He’s a surgeon. From New York.”

      “What kind?” Alison gave a quick laugh. “If he’s a plastic surgeon, maybe my nose and I will go to see him.”

      Wendy knew it was a desperate attempt to lighten the situation, but nothing could do that. First all the talk about Seth, and now this. Well, telling Allie would be a dress rehearsal for telling her mother. Go for it, she thought, and took a steadying breath.

      “He’s an orthopedic surgeon. They wrote him up in a zillion papers and magazines a few months ago.” Wendy lifted her hands and stretched out an imaginary banner. “`Rod Pommier,’“ she said in solemn tones, “`the brilliant young surgeon who’s developed a break-through bonding technique for healing shattered bones….’“

      “Yeah? So what about…” Alison blinked. “Shattered bones?”

      “Uh-huh. When the doctors pieced my leg together, they used pins and plates. That’s what they’ve done for decades. But Pommier’s found a new technique that allows joints to regenerate normally.”

      “Interesting, I guess, except you just said your leg is already fixed.”

      “Pommier’s method would make it as good as new. The thing is, he’s not taking on new patients. He’s booked for the next umpteen years, and besides, the procedure can be dangerous.”

      “Dangerous how?”

      “I don’t know. It has something to do with whether your bones are right for the technique or not.” Wendy gave a brittle laugh. “Of course, the real question is, if your bones don’t work right in the first place, how can they be wrong for it? Anyhow, I phoned Pommier. His receptionist wouldn’t put me through. I called the hospital where he’s on staff. They wouldn’t put me through, either. So I wrote him a letter, gave him a rough rundown on my accident…”

      “And?”

      “And,” Wendy said with a defeated sigh, “I got a letter back. He was very polite. He said he was sympathetic to my situation, yadda yadda yadda, but—”

      “But he wasn’t interested.” Alison smiled sadly. “Sounds like a message on my answering machine after a blind date with some guy who’s a jerk.”

      “That’s just the thing, though. I don’t think he’s a jerk. I think he’s just wrong about not wanting to take me on. If I can talk to him, face-to-face, I can change his mind.”

      “Are you so sure this new thing he’s invented can help you? You had your accident years ago. The surgery—”

      “The surgery,” Wendy said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “was a disaster. It wasn’t the doctor’s fault. He did everything he could, but pins and plates can’t make up for missing bone. This technique of Pommier’s can.”

      “You think?”

      “I know.” She tapped her fist lightly against her breastbone. “I can feel it. Maybe that’s not the most scientific appraisal, but it’s what I feel. I just need to talk to him, but he’s wary. And I understand why. Pommier’s being hounded to death by the media, by desperate patients….” Alison raised a brow, and Wendy colored. “Right,” she said, with something close to defiance, “desperate patients like me. That’s why he’s coming to Cooper’s Corner.”

      Alison’s jaw dropped. “Huh? Wendy, honey, you’re losing me here.”

      “Pommier wants to get away from everything for a few days. He’s coming to the Berkshires to ski. My dad’s a member of the ski club, remember? Well, so’s an orthopedist from Pittsfield who’s a friend of my father’s. It turns out he and Pommier did their residencies together, and Pommier wrote to him, asked him about the town, whether it was as off the track as it seems, and if he could recommend a place to stay.” Wendy caught her breath. “Hey. I bet he’s going to stay at the old Cooper place. Twin Oaks.”

      “If he’s this big-deal celebrity, wouldn’t he stay in Lenox? Or in Stockbridge? I mean, I love Cooper’s Corner, but you have to admit