Page 45 of Two Wrongs

“Worst spy ever,” Wren mutters.

I take her hand, because Dolores has already seen her wearing my clothes, and walk her around the house towards her cottage. While Wren searches for the keys in her purse, the curtain on this side of the house moves and I see a fluffy mass of silvery white hair peeking through the crack.

I predict she’ll be at Wren’s front door in the next five minutes. When she gets the door open I hurry her inside. “Go on and change, and I’ll get you to work.”

She fidgets with the strings on the sweatshirt. “You don’t have to wait for me. I know you need to get to work too.”

I sit down on her small sofa and make myself comfortable. “One of the perks of owning your own business, making your own hours. Go, I can wait for you.”

“If you insist.” She turns around and goes into her room to change.

Just as I thought, Dolores is standing at the front door the moment Wren steps into her room. I head her off by stepping out onto the front porch. “Morning, Dolores,” I greet her.

“Come chat with me in my kitchen for a bit,” she says, and turns around expecting me to follow her.

She’s not even five feet tall, but there are few people I look up to as much as I do this woman. Whatever she wants to say to me, I owe her the time to hear her out. It doesn’t take long for me to catch up to her, and I beat her to the door so I can hold it open for her the way she taught me when I was a kid.

Dolores goes about making two cups of coffee. She knows I take mine black and places a mug in front of me. I wrap my hands around it to keep them from shaking and prepare to face the scorn of the one person who seems to care about Wren like family should.

“What are you doing with her, Griffin? She’s your son’s wife.”

I nod my head. “I know, but I can’t help myself.”

Her blue eyes aren’t as bright as I remember them, but they still pierce right through me. “Can’t or won’t?” she asks.

I set my cup down. “Do you think I’d risk my relationship with my son if I could stop this?”

She nods as if my words answered a different question. “You love her.”

My mouth falls open, to what, argue with her? Dolores raises one gnarled hand. “I’m going to stop you there. You aren’t ready to admit it, but I see it.”

She looks off over my shoulder, lost in a memory from her eighty-two years on the planet. Her smile is sad, when she turns back to me. “Remember, sometimes love isn’t enough.”

“You don’t have to worry about Wren. I won’t hurt her,” I promise.

Dolores pats my hand. “She’s not the one I’m worried about.”

Wren chooses this moment to rush into the kitchen. Her hair is still a mess, but a more controlled mess than this morning. It’s windblown, and somehow sexier than when she’s styled it. I like seeing her wild and free.

Wren has her cell phone in her hand. “My phone is finally charged. Carl left several messages, apparently he’s going out of town for longer than he expected. His mother is in the hospital. I just called him, and he said he’s thinking about shutting it down for good. He’s, uh, transferring his clients to another broker.”

“Oh dear, that must be why he called and left a message on my machine. You must be so upset, Wren, but you shouldn’t worry. Everything will be alright, I promise.” Dolores stands and starts fixing her a plate of fruit and yogurt. I swear she believes every problem in life can be solved if the right meal is provided.

Wren’s breathing turns shallow. Her green eyes search for mine, and I can see fear and desperation shining back at me. “What am I going to do, Griff?”

I jump up and pull her into my arms. I run my fingers through her hair. “The first thing you’re going to do is breathe.”

She fights to take several slow deep breaths. After a minute I feel her chest expand fully, and it doesn’t feel like she’s vibrating in my arms.

“Okay, now that I know you’re not going to pass out, let’s go grab some breakfast and talk,” I suggest. She nods against my chest.

Dolores watches us with a mischievous fascination. “Wren, darling, I hate to pile more on you. My son came by yesterday, and he thinks the house has termites. Personally, I think he’s overreacting, but he called in an exterminator to have the house fumigated.”

“What does this mean?” Wren asks.

I step back and take her hand. “I think she’s saying you need to find a place to stay for a few days.”

“Oh,” Wren says and chews her lip.

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