His Heir, Her Secret
Janice Maynard
“You’re carrying my baby. You will be my bride…”For two glorious weeks, Cate Everett shared Brody Stewart’s bed. Four months later and the seductive Scotsman is back in town. Will she be living a loveless sham or will he throw his heart into the bargain?
“You’re carrying my baby. You will be my bride.”
For two glorious weeks, Cate Everett shared the bed of Brody Stewart, a man she’d just met and never expected to see again. Fast forward four months, and the seductive Scotsman is back in town...with the solution to Cate’s baby-to-be dilemma. But if she becomes Brody’s bride, will she be living a loveless sham? Or will he throw his heart into the bargain?
USA TODAY bestselling author JANICE MAYNARD loved books and writing even as a child. But it took multiple rejections before she sold her first manuscript. Since 2002, she has written over forty-five books and novellas. Janice lives in east Tennessee with her husband, Charles. They love hiking, traveling and spending time with family.
You can connect with Janice at
www.janicemaynard.com (http://www.janicemaynard.com)Twitter.com/janicemaynard (http://www.Twitter.com/janicemaynard)Facebook.com/janicemaynardreaderpage (http://www.Facebook.com/janicemaynardreaderpage) and Instagram.com/janicemaynard (http://www.Instagram.com/janicemaynard).
Also by Janice Maynard (#ucbbd8857-d206-52ea-9c1d-de08b3efc14a)
A Not-So-Innocent Seduction Baby for Keeps
Christmas in the Billionaire’s Bed
Twins on the Way
Second Chance with the Billionaire
How to Sleep with the Boss
For Baby’s Sake
His Heir, Her Secret
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
His Heir, Her Secret
Janice Maynard
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07649-4
HIS HEIR, HER SECRET
© 2018 Janice Maynard
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For all of my friends who have ever fantasized about owning a quaint bookstore in a charming small town...this one’s for you...
Contents
Cover (#u00f676ce-30a8-5a37-84f0-9cf85e17111d)
Back Cover Text (#u50eac0fe-34b5-5bc8-93ab-a184fa4a8d08)
About the Author (#ud23fc56a-5f0c-50f7-aeae-849f32c0b939)
Booklist (#uc918e751-fad2-56bd-957f-8b049d0df9db)
Title Page (#u46fac0ec-e497-5087-b9a1-fbc5594996b7)
Copyright (#ude4072fe-ad51-540f-8d9d-22b8fee995ce)
Dedication (#u3096357b-5b76-5740-8e62-f7796694cea8)
One (#ud2a5c9d1-ad5e-52a3-a0f7-c39d08730fa1)
Two (#u1d8a2a15-3667-52a3-9e2a-b27dbde2fb8d)
Three (#u9ba5e734-c2fe-5d28-a872-63645e2d672b)
Four (#ub9a9f991-659f-57b3-8f24-31d41edcb3ae)
Five (#u33ee1d69-10b1-53da-a2b2-1a223368f487)
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Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ucbbd8857-d206-52ea-9c1d-de08b3efc14a)
The Scotsman was back. Heart pounding, hands sweating, Cate Everett leaned over her old-fashioned, nicked-up porcelain sink and eased the curtain aside with one finger. From the vantage point of her upstairs apartment, she had a perfect view of the comings and goings across the street.
Brody Stewart. The man she hadn’t seen in four months and believed she would never see again. Brody Stewart. Six feet and more of broad shoulders, sinewy muscles and a rough-velvet brogue of a voice that could shuck the panties off a girl before she knew what was happening. The Scotsman was back.
She wasn’t ready. Dear Lord, she wasn’t ready.
Her freshly brewed cup of tea sat cooling on the table behind her. The late February day had been icy and drear, a perfect match for the mood that had plagued her since climbing out of bed at dawn. She’d thought the comforting drink would cheer her up.
Instead, a clatter of slamming doors and deep male voices had distracted her...driven her to the window. And now she knew. The Scotsman was back.
In all fairness, Cate had never seen disaster coming four months ago. When a man’s grandmother introduces you to her grandson, a woman usually thinks the guy can’t get his own dates.
Only in this case, it wasn’t true. Brody Stewart could have any woman he wanted with one twinkle of his long-lashed, indigo-blue eyes. She still remembered the tiny lines that crinkled at the corners of those gorgeous eyes when he smiled. Brody smiled a lot.
Oh, jeez. Her legs wobbled in sync with the drunken butterflies in her stomach. She needed to sit down. She needed to drink her tea. But she couldn’t tear herself away from the window.
On the street below, a tiny, gray-haired lady gave orders to two remarkably similar men. Brody was one. The other must be Duncan, his younger brother. Suitcases came out of the trunk of a rental car. Hugs were exchanged. Snowflakes danced on the breeze.
None of the three people she spied on seemed to notice the cold. Perhaps because they hailed from the Scottish Highlands...a place where winter winds scoured the moors, and bloodlines went as far back as the hearty stock of warring clans and beyond.
Cate wiped damp palms on her faded jeans. She needed to focus. Voyeurism and dithering weren’t going to accomplish a thing. Besides, she had a shop to run.
Forcing herself to step back and abandon her intense fascination with the tableau on the street, she cradled her teacup in two trembling hands, drank most of the cold liquid and set the delicate china aside before making her way downstairs. Lunch break, such as it was, was over.
For five years she had found solace and pride in her charmingly eccentric bookshop, Dog-Eared Pages. The little store with the uneven hardwood floors and the rows of antique bookshelvesheld a place of honor on the main street of Candlewick, North Carolina. From the spring solstice until almost Thanksgiving, tourists came and went, bringing dollars and life to the region.
Tucked away in the Blue Ridge Mountains an hour from Asheville, Candlewick hearkened back to a simpler time. Neighbors knew each other’s business, crime was rare and the quality of life made up for the lack of first-run movie theaters and big-name restaurants.
Cate straightened the local History section and dusted one volume at a time, congratulating herself on avoiding the front of the store. She didn’t need to know what was happening across the street. It had nothing to do with her.
Without warning, the tinkling of a bell above the door announced the arrival of a customer. Cate’s heart stopped for a full three seconds, and then lurched ahead with a sickening whoosh when she recognized her visitor.
She cleared her dry throat. “Miss Izzy. What can I do for you?”
Isobel Stewart stood barely five feet tall but carried herself with the personality of an Amazon. Decades ago she had left her parents’ home in Inverness for a secretarial job in the big city of Edinburgh. While there, she met a charismatic American who had come to Scotland for a study-abroad semester.
After a whirlwind courtship, Isobel married the lad and followed him back to the United States—Candlewick, North Carolina, to be precise. She embraced her new life with only one request, that she keep her maiden name. Her new husband not only agreed, but also legally changed his last name to hers so that the Stewart line would continue. Together, the young couple launched a business building cabins in the mountains.
The intervening years produced vast wealth and a single son. Unfortunately for his parents, the young man felt the pull of his Scottish roots and after college settled in the Highlands. His two sons were the two men Cate had been spying on across the street. Izzy’s grandsons.
Isobel Stewart scanned the titles on the New Release shelf. “I want ye to come to dinner tonight, Cate. Brody is back. And he’s brought Duncan with him this time.”
“You must be thrilled,” Cate said, avoiding the question. Actually, it was more of a command. Isobel rarely accepted no for an answer.
The little woman suddenly looked every one of her ninety-two years. “I need you,” she muttered as if mortified by her weakness.
The smell of lemon polish permeated the air. Cate leaned a hip against the oak counter that supported the cash register. “What’s wrong, Miss Izzy?”
When the old Scottish lady blinked back tears, Cate couldn’t tell if they were genuine or manipulative.
Isobel’s bottom lip quivered. “I don’t have room in the apartment for two huge men, so I’ve told the lads they have to stay up at the big house.”
The big house was Isobel’s lavish and incredibly beautiful property on the mountaintop above Candlewick. Izzy hadn’t been able to spend the night there since her husband died six months before. Like many of the businesses in Candlewick, Stewart Properties was housed in a historic building on Main Street. Izzy had taken to sleeping on the second floor above her office.
“Makes sense,” Cate said carefully, sensing a trap. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“The boys wanted to surprise me for my birthday. They’ve hired a caterer to prepare dinner for us tonight. I hadn’t the heart to tell them I didn’t want to come.”
“Oh, I didn’t remember it was today. Happy birthday. But Brody was here before. Surely the two of you spent time up on the mountain.”
“He did a few chores for me. Checked on things. I pretended like I was busy. And since it was just Brody, he slept on the sofa, ye know...in the apartment...with me.”
“Miss Izzy...” Cate trailed off, searching for words. “Your grandsons must have an inkling of how you feel. Maybe this is their way of breaking the ice. It’s been six months. The longer you stay away, the more difficult it will be. I’m guessing they planned the birthday dinner to lure you up there.”
“It doesn’t feel like months,” the old woman said, her words wistful. “It seems like yesterday. My dear Geoffrey’s spirit is a ghost in every room of that house. Go with me,” Izzy pleaded. Gnarled, arthritic hands twisted at her waist. For a split second, Cate witnessed the depth of Isobel Stewart’s anguish at losing the love of her life.
“It’s a family celebration,” Cate said. “It will seem odd if I come.”
“Not at all,” Izzy said. “It was actually Brody’s idea.”
* * *
Five hours later Cate found herself on the doorstep of Stewart Properties, bouncing from one foot to the other in a futile attempt to keep warm. At the curb, she had left the engine running in her modest four-door sedan.
At last, when Cate’s fingers were numb, Izzy appeared. She looked remarkably chipper for someone who was about to face an unpleasant experience. “Right on time,” Izzy said. “You’re a lovely young lass. Men don’t like a woman who can’t be punctual.”
Cate helped the old woman into the car. Izzy was wrapped from head to toe in a brown wool coat and a heavy woven scarf in brown and beige. “That’s a stereotype, Miss Izzy. I’m sure there are as many men as women who have trouble being on time.”
Isobel snorted and changed the subject. “I thought ye’d wear a dress,” she complained.
Cate extracted the car from the tight parking space and adjusted the defroster. “It’s going to be close to twenty degrees tonight. These are my best dress pants.” She’d worn them back when she was on her way to becoming a doctor...in the days before her world fell apart.
“Pants, schmantz. Brody and Duncan are hot-blooded men. I’m sure they would have enjoyed seeing a glimpse of leg. Yours are spectacular, bonnie young Cate. When you’re my age, you’ll wish ye’d appreciated what ye had when you had it.”
There was no arguing with the antiquated, sexually regressive logic of a woman in her nineties.
Cate sighed. Unfortunately, the road up the mountain was easily traversed and not long at all. When they pulled up in front of the Stewart mansion—Cate would be hard-pressed to describe it as anything else—they had time to spare. Izzy’s home was spectacular. Weathered mountain stone, rough-hewn lumber, copper guttering, giant multipaned windows that brought the outdoors inside... This magnificent architectural gem had once graced the cover of Southern Living.
Cate touched the petite woman’s arm. “Are you going to be okay?”
Izzy sniffed. “Outliving your friends and contemporaries is bollocks, Cate.”
“Miss Izzy!” Her friend’s lack of respect for social convention still caught her off guard at times.
“Don’t be prissy. What’s the point of getting old if ye can’t say what ye please?”
“So back to my original question. Are you going to be okay?”
Izzy gazed through the windshield, her cheeks damp. “He built that house as a thank-you to me. Did you know that?”
“No, ma’am, I didn’t. A thank-you for what?”
“Giving up Scotland. My family. My home. Coming here to America with him. Silly fool.” She stopped. Her throat worked. “I’d have given all that and more for one more day with the auld codger.”
Cate felt her own throat tighten, and not only because of Izzy’s emotional return to the house where she had spent a decades-long marriage. Izzy had pledged herself and her heart to a man who was her soul mate. Cate had never even come close. And now she had made the most wretched mistake of her life.
She turned off the engine and gripped the steering wheel. Brody was inside that house. What was she going to say to him?
Izzy moved restively. “Might as well get it over with,” she muttered. “I’ll not cry, mind you. Too many tears shed already. Besides, I don’t want the lads to think they’ve done wrong by me. Let’s go, Cate, my girl.”
The two women scuttled up the flagstone walkway, buffeted by an icy wind. Moments later the double, burnished-oak front doors swung open wide. The massive chandelier in the foyer spilled light into the darkness. The diminutive Scotswoman was caught up in the enthusiastic hugs of her two über-masculine grandsons.
Brody’s thick, wavy chestnut hair shone with strands of reddish-gold mixed in. Duncan’s was a darker brown and straighter. He had the rich brown eyes to match. Though the brothers were alike in many ways, Izzy had once upon a time explained to Cate that Brody favored his Irish-born mother while Duncan was a younger version of his Grandda.
Now that Cate had finally met Duncan, she agreed. It was astonishing to see how much Brody’s younger brother resembled Geoffrey Stewart. She wondered if it was painful for Izzy to look at Duncan and see the memory of her young husband in the flesh.
Cate hung back, still not sure why she had come. Izzy seemed to be handling things with grace and bravery. It was Cate whose stomach quivered with nerves.
Izzy drew Cate forward. “Cate, my dear, meet Duncan.”
Duncan Stewart lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “Charmed, Miss Everett.”
Brody snorted. “Knock it off, Duncan.”
Duncan held up his hands, visibly protesting his innocence. “What? What did I do?”
“Go check on the caterer, would you?”
Moments later Duncan bore his grandmother deeper into the house, leaving Cate alone with Brody.
The man who had avoided eyeing her until now, gave her a crooked grin. “Surprise, lass. I’m back.”
* * *
Brody wasn’t an idiot. He knew when a woman was glad to see him and when she wasn’t. Cate Everett looked like someone who had swallowed bad milk. His pride took a hit, but he maintained his smile with effort. “It was nice of you to come with Granny. I know she’s been dreading this moment.”
Cate took off her coat slowly and handed it to him. “Then why force the issue?”
He shrugged, turning to hang up Cate’s wrap. “There are decisions to be made. My ninety-two-year-old grandmother has been sleeping in a closet-sized room with the barest of essentials. Grandda is gone. This house is still here. We can’t pretend anymore.”
Cate’s jaw tightened. “Are you always so sure you know what’s best for everyone?”
He cocked his head, studying her from a distance, even though he thought about grabbing her up and kissing her soundly. The last time the two of them had seen each other, they had been naked and breathless in Cate’s bed.
“Have I upset ye in some way, Cate? I had to leave. You knew that.”
A month after his grandfather’s funeral, Brody had returned to Candlewick to spend time with his grandmother and to assess the state of the family business. Stewart Properties was a thriving company with a stellar reputation in the United States.
Unfortunately, Geoffrey Stewart was gone now. Brody’s own father had no desire to return to the States permanently. So something had to be done about Granny Isobel.
Brody had spent four weeks in North Carolina, two of them wildly in lust with the beautiful and brilliant Cate Everett. By day he had been a dutiful grandson. At night he had found himself drawn time and again to the woman who had a reputation around the small town for being kind but standoffish. With Brody, she had been anything but...
To be honest, the depth of his physical infatuation had made him the tiniest bit uncomfortable. He understood the mechanics of sexual attraction. He’d even had his share of serious relationships. But when his grandmother introduced him to her friend and neighbor, Cate Everett, Brody had felt like a tongue-tied adolescent.
Cate was a mix of femme fatale and spinster schoolteacher. Her pale blond hair was like sunshine on a winter afternoon, though she kept it tucked up in a tight knot on the back of her head most days, the kind of knot that looked headache-producing from the get-go.
But when she let it down...hot damn. Even now Brody’s fingers itched to touch the fall of silk that had spilled across his chest and still featured in his fantasies.
She was tall, five-ten at least. Brody knew the curves and valleys of her alluring shape, but Cate kept her body mostly hidden beneath loose cardigans and below-the-knee jumpers. He had no clue why a woman as intensely feminine as she was would make a concerted effort to hide in plain sight.
After a long, awkward silence, she cast him a sideways glance, her small smile rueful. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. It’s nice to see you again, Brody.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Nice?”
“I didn’t want to give you any ideas.”
“About what?”
“You know what,” Cate said crossly. “I’m not interested in picking up where we left off.”
“Maybe I wasn’t going to ask.” He taunted her deliberately. Her prickly attitude was both frustrating and a challenge. He’d never met a woman with as many complicated layers as Cate Everett.
Cate sighed. “It’s cold here in the foyer. Do you mind if we go find the others? I’m starving.”
“Of course. I do remember how ye like to eat.”
When Cate flushed to her hairline, he smiled inwardly. On one memorable occasion last fall, the two of them had climbed out of Cate’s bed at midnight and fixed scrambled eggs and bacon, because they had skipped dinner in favor of urgent, mind-blowing sex.
Cate knew her way around Isobel’s house, so he let her lead. She and Granny had been friends for several years. Although Brody had pumped his grandmother for information about the aloof American, she had fed him few details.
They found Duncan and Isobel in the dining room. The caterer who was preparing dinner had set an elegant table with Stewart china and silver and crystal. Brody’s grandmother stood behind the chair that had been her husband’s and rested her hands on the tall back. “One of you boys should sit here,” she said with the tiniest quaver in her voice.
Brody and Duncan looked at each other. Cate winced. Finally, Brody shook his head. “I can’t, Granny. Neither can Duncan.”
“Then why did ye make me come up here?” she snapped, her eyes welling with tears. “If my own grandsons won’t move on, how am I supposed to?”
Two (#ucbbd8857-d206-52ea-9c1d-de08b3efc14a)
To Brody’s relief, Cate stepped forward. “What if I take Mr. Geoffrey’s chair tonight, Miss Izzy? It would be my honor. You can sit here beside me.”
Brody mouthed a thank-you to her over his grandmother’s head. Izzy had some definite ideas about how the future was going to play out, and she wasn’t above emotional manipulation to get her way. He and Duncan had spent hours discussing possibilities, but no single solution had presented itself as of yet.
Without extra leaves in the antique table, the four adults sat in an intimate enclave, Cate and Duncan at the head and foot, Brody and Izzy to Cate’s left and right. Fortunately, the caterer was on his game, and the elaborate meal kicked off immediately, helping ease the moments of tension. The brothers had ordered all of Izzy’s favorites: fresh brook trout, seasoned carrots and potatoes, flaky biscuits and tender asparagus, all washed down with an expensive zinfandel. Though the elderly woman’s capacity for food was modest, she ate with delight, her worn, wrinkled face aglow.
Cate did her part, not only by sitting in for the ghost at the table, but also by contributing with her quick wit and stimulating conversation. The four adults covered books and politics and international affairs.
Duncan, much to Brody’s dismay, seemed especially taken with Cate. That was a really bad idea. Maybe Brody should have given his little brother a heads-up that the lady was spoken for.
He choked on a bit of carrot and had to wash it down with half a glass of water, red-faced and stunned. If Duncan ended up being the one to move here with Granny and keep the business afloat, it made perfect sense that he and Cate might hit it off.
Apparently, Brody did a poor job of disguising his emotions. Granny Isobel waved a fork at him. “Ye okay there, my lad? Did you find a bone in your fish?”
Brody grimaced. “I’m fine.”
Cate gazed at him curiously with catlike green eyes that always made him uncomfortable. He didn’t particularly want a woman peering into his soul. Surely it was his imagination that suggested she could read his every thought.
Desperate to deflect the attention from himself, he nudged his brother’s foot under the table. “Duncan here has some good ideas about the company, Granny.”
Isobel perked up. “I’m listening.”
Duncan glared at his brother with a fierceness that promised retribution. He cleared his throat. “The thing is, Granny, I think it makes a lot of sense to put Stewart Properties on the market. The American economy has rebounded. It’s an optimal time to sell. Ye shouldn’t be living alone at your age anyway, and just think how happy Dad would be if you moved back to Scotland.”
Everything in the room went silent. The four adults sat frozen in an uncomfortable tableau. The caterer was nowhere to be seen, undoubtedly in the kitchen whipping up a fabulous dessert.
Cate cleared her throat and stood. “This is family business,” she said quietly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to the library and amuse myself.”
Before Brody could protest, Isobel lifted her chin and stared them down with the arrogance of a queen. “Ye’re not leaving, Cate. I asked you to come with me tonight, and I consider ye one of my dearest friends. It appears I may need someone on my side.”
Brody frowned. “That’s not fair, Granny, and you know it. Duncan and I love you dearly and want the best for everyone involved. There are no sides in this conversation.”
His grandmother huffed, a sound he recognized from his childhood and all the years in between. “When I’m dead, ye can do whatever you like with your inheritance. For now, though, this company Geoffrey and I built with our sweat and tears is all I have left of him. To be honest, I’m glad you forced the issue of me coming back to the house. I didn’t realize how much I had missed it.”
“We could keep the house,” Brody said. He had thrown his brother under the bus. Now it was time for Brody to take some of the heat.
Isobel glared at him. “What part of not selling didn’t you understand? I’m old. Don’t you get it? I won’t be here much longer. Besides, I have two excellent managers who are working out very well in Geoffrey’s absence.”
Cate brought in reinforcements, giving Brody a look of sympathy. “But remember, Miss Izzy, Herman is getting ready to move to California...to be near his ailing parents, and it’s too huge an operation for Kevin to manage all on his own. You said so yourself.”
Instead of being cowed, Isobel seemed energized by the conflict. “Then one of these two will pick up the slack. Surely that’s not too much for an old woman to ask of her grandsons.”
Again, silence descended, heavy with the weight of familial expectations. Cate tried to help, God bless her generous soul. “Brody has his boat business in Skye, Miss Izzy. Surely you wouldn’t ask him to give that up. And Duncan is a partner in that, right?” She lifted an eyebrow.
Duncan nodded. “I am. Brody still owns the controlling share, but I handle all the financial operations.”
Izzy wasn’t impressed. “So sell your business. You can both move here. Stewart Properties is going to belong to you both one day anyway. Your father doesn’t need anything of mine.”
Isobel’s son, Brody and Duncan’s father, was a world-famous artist with galleries all over the British Isles. He was wildly successful and obscenely wealthy. Even so, he had insisted his boys get good educations and find their own paths in life. Brody appreciated his father’s contribution to the launch of the boating business, but that financial obligation had been repaid long ago.
Brody ran a hand through his hair. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined his grandmother was going to be such a handful. Whatever happened to sweet, docile old women who knitted and crocheted and went to church on Sundays and let the menfolk take care of them?
“Maybe we should all sleep on this, Granny. Duncan and I are jet-lagged anyway. I vote we enjoy the rest of dinner.”
The caterer entered the dining room bearing a tray of warm apple tarts drizzled with fresh cream. The interruption was timely as far as Brody was concerned. The only reason he and Duncan had been dispatched to North Carolina was to settle their grandmother’s business affairs and bring her home to Scotland.
The chances of that happening were becoming more remote by the minute.
Unpleasant subjects were abandoned over coffee and dessert. Brody allowed himself, for the first time that evening, to truly study Cate. He had hoped his four-month-old recollections of her were exaggerated. Surely her skin wasn’t as soft as he remembered...or her voice as husky.
When she laughed at something Duncan said, Brody actually felt a pain in his chest. She was everything he had dreamed about and infinitely better in person. Which only made his dilemma all the more complicated. He sure as hell couldn’t play fast and loose with a woman his grandmother held in high regard.
Not that it mattered. For some reason Cate had changed. Four months ago she had smiled at him as if she meant it. Now her gaze slid away from his time and again. Even if he wanted her in his bed again—or hers—it seemed unlikely that Cate was on the same page.
By nine o’clock, Isobel was visibly drooping.
Cate noticed, too. She touched the elderly woman on the hand. “I think it’s my bedtime, Miss Izzy. Are you ready to head down the mountain?”
“Soon,” Isobel said. “But since these boys forced my hand, and I’m here, I’d like to walk through the house before I go. Duncan, you come with me. Brody, entertain Cate until I get back.”
When the other two walked out of the room, Brody chuckled. “I swear she doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she’s got all of us at the end of a tight leash.”
Cate nodded. “I don’t envy you and Duncan. Changing her mind won’t be easy.”
“And it might be impossible. Which means removing her by force or finding a way to maintain the status quo until it’s her time to go.”
Cate picked up a silver chalice on the mahogany sideboard and studied it intently. “Have you given any thought to relocating for a few years? For her?”
Brody sensed a trap in the question, but he couldn’t pin it down. “My life is in Scotland,” he said flatly. “I’ve spent seven years building my boat business. I need the water. It speaks to me. Nothing here compares.”
“I see.”
He walked around the table that separated them and touched her hair. “I’ll ask again, Cate. Have I done something to upset you?” He wasn’t adept at playing games, and he would have sworn that Cate was not the kind of woman to give a man fits.
“Of course not,” she said, though her tone belied the words.
He took her wrist in a gentle grasp and turned her to face him. “I’ve missed ye, Cate.” Yearning slammed into him with the punch of a sledgehammer. His hands trembled with the need to drag her close and kiss her.
His head lowered. She looked up at him, big-eyed, her gaze a conundrum he couldn’t understand. “I missed you, too,” she whispered.
And then it happened. Maybe he moved. Maybe she did. Suddenly, his mouth was on hers and she was kissing him back. Their lips clung together and separated and mated again. She tasted like apples and pure heaven. His heart pounded. His sex hardened. For a single blinding moment of clarity, he knew this was one of the reasons he had come back to North Carolina. “Cate,” he muttered.
The caterer returned to clear the table, and Cate jerked away, her expression caught somewhere between horror and what appeared to be revulsion...which made no sense at all. They had been good together. Sensational.
Cate swept the back of her hand across her mouth and whispered urgently, “You have lip gloss on your chin.”
He picked up a napkin, wiped his face and looked at the pink stain on the white linen. Before he could say anything, Duncan and Isobel walked into the room.
Brody’s grandmother had been crying...her eyes were red-rimmed. But she seemed calm and at peace. Brody shot his brother a quick glance. Duncan grimaced but nodded. Apparently, all was well.
“We’ll go now,” Cate said.
Isobel followed her through the house and into the front foyer. While Duncan helped the women with their coats, Brody brooded. “I’ll drive you down the mountain,” he said. “It’s dark, and it’s late.”
Cate frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m perfectly capable of negotiating this mountain. Unlike you, I like it here.”
Brody winced inwardly. He hadn’t been wrong. Something was going on with Cate. He lowered his voice. “Will ye walk Granny upstairs and make sure she’s settled?”
“Of course.” Cate pulled away from him and put on her gloves. “I’ve been looking after Miss Izzy for a long time. You people came over for the funeral and left again. She’s important to me. I won’t let her down.”
“The implication being that I’m a disappointment.”
Cate shrugged and lifted her hair from beneath her collar. “If the shoe fits.”
Duncan intervened. “If the two of you can quit squabbling, I think Granny’s ready for bed.”
Isobel spoke up. “I can wait. At my age, I don’t need as much sleep. Besides, watching Brody try to woo Cate is a hoot and a half.”
“There’s no wooing,” Cate protested, her cheeks turning red. “We were merely having a difference of opinion. Cultural differences and all that.”
Now Brody felt his own face flush. “I’m Scottish, not an alien species.”
She sniffed audibly. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? Miss Izzy is a North Carolinian, and so am I. You and Duncan are merely passing through.”
With that pointed remark, Cate ushered Isobel out into the cold and slammed the door behind them.
Duncan whistled long and loud. “What in the hell did you do to piss her off? We haven’t even been in Candlewick twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brody lied.
“I may be a wee bit younger than you are, but I’ve tangled with my share of fiery lasses. The sexual tension between you and the lovely Cate is nuclear.”
“Don’t call her lovely,” Brody snapped. “Don’t call her anything.”
Duncan rocked back on his heels and wrapped his arms across his chest. “Damn. You’re a fast worker, bro, but even you aren’t that good. Something happened four months ago, didn’t it?”
“None of your business.”
“You messed around with that gorgeous woman and then went home. Cold, Brody. Really cold. No wonder she looks as if she wants to strangle you.”
“It wasn’t like that. Granny introduced us. Cate and I became...close.”
“For the entire four weeks?”
“The last two. It wasn’t anything either of us planned. Can we talk about something else please?”
“Okay. What are we going to do about Granny?”
Hell. This topic was not much better. “We have to convince her to sell. She’s too damned old to be here on her own.”
“She has Cate.”
“Cate’s not family.”
“I don’t think Granny cares. That old woman crossed an ocean with a brand-new husband and started a brand-new life. She’s tough. Losing Grandda was a huge blow, but she’s still upright and fighting. What if we make her go home to Scotland, and it’s the final blow? She hasn’t lived there since she was a very young woman. Candlewick and the business and this house are all she knows.”
“Aren’t you forgetting our father, her son?”
“Dad is an eccentric. He and Granny love each other, but it works really well long distance. That’s not a reason to kidnap her. She’s an independent soul. I don’t want to break her spirit.”
“And you think I do?” Brody’s frustration spilled over in a shout. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Duncan locked the front door and turned off the lights. “We’re both beat. Let’s call it a night. Maybe we’ll have a flash of inspiration tomorrow.”
“I doubt it.”
* * *
Brody fell asleep instantly, but surfaced four hours later, completely disoriented and wide-awake. After a few seconds the fog cleared. It was midmorning back home. On a good day he’d be out on the loch with the wind in his hair and the sun on his back. He slung an arm across his face and told himself not to panic. No one could make him move to America. That was ludicrous.
Without warning, an image of Cate Everett filled his brain. He would never admit it, but even with an ocean between them, Cate had been on his mind most days over the past four months. There was something about her gentle smile and husky laughter and the way her hair spilled like warm silk across his chest when they were in bed together.
She wasn’t exactly uninhibited between the sheets. In fact, the first three times they had been intimate, she’d insisted on having the lights off. He’d thought her shyness was charming and sweet. He’d considered it a personal triumph when she’d actually let him strip her naked in broad daylight and make her scream his name.
The memory dampened his forehead and caused his jaw to clench. The house was plenty cool, but suddenly the bed felt like a prison.
Bloody hell. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers and wandered barefoot through the silent hallways to the kitchen. The generous space had been renovated a decade ago. Despite Isobel’s advanced age, she had never fit the stereotype of a little old lady. She embraced change and even loved technology. Stewart Properties was a sophisticated, cutting-edge company with an incredibly healthy bottom line.
He poured himself a glass of orange juice and downed it in three swallows. Brody owed his grandmother a great deal. She had helped him through a very painful period of his life when his parents divorced. He’d been fifteen and totally oblivious to the undercurrents in the house.
When the end came, life had become unbearable. Isobel insisted that her two boys come to North Carolina for a long visit, long enough for the worst of the trauma to ease. These mountains had provided healing.
Under the circumstances, Brody had a very serious debt to pay.
Even knowing that, his gut churned. Staying in Candlewick would mean dealing with Cate and his muddled feelings.
It was far easier to live on another continent.
After half an hour of pacing, his feet were icy, and sleep was out of the question. Without second-guessing himself, he returned to his bedroom and dressed rapidly. Duncan wouldn’t need transportation at this hour.
Brody guided the boring rental car down the winding mountain road, careful to stay on the correct side of the road. It helped that no one else was out at this hour. Soon he reached the outskirts of town. Candlewick still slept. Main Street was deserted.
He parked the car and filched a small handful of pea gravel from the nicely landscaped flower beds at the bank. Then he eyed Cate’s bookstore with a frown. The striped burgundy and green awning that covered the front of the shop was going to make this difficult.
Though he had sucked at geometry in school, even he could see that he needed a longer arc. Looking left and right and hoping local law enforcement was asleep, as well, he backed up until he stood in the middle of the street. Feeling like an idiot, he chose a piece of gravel, rotated his shoulders to loosen them up and aimed at Cate’s bedroom window.
Three (#ucbbd8857-d206-52ea-9c1d-de08b3efc14a)
Cate groaned and pulled the quilt up around her ears. That stupid squirrel was scratching around in the attic again.
After Isobel’s birthday dinner on the mountain, Cate had tucked the old woman into bed as she had promised. Back at her own place, she wandered aimlessly in the bookstore for a long time. She plucked a book off the shelf, read a paragraph or two, replaced it and then repeated the restless behavior.
When she finally went upstairs, it took an hour or more of tossing and turning before she was able to fall asleep. Seeing Brody had unsettled her to a disturbing degree. And now this.
Plink. Plink. The distinctive pinging sound came two more times. And then once more. At last, the veils of slumber rolled away and she understood what was really happening. Brody Stewart. She would bet her signed, first-edition copy of Gone with the Wind that it was him.
Grumbling at having to abandon the warm cocoon of covers she had created, she stumbled to the window and looked out. The wavy panes of antique glass were unadorned. There was no one to peek at her from across the street. The owners of the general store used their upstairs square footage for inventory storage. Cate’s modesty was safe from this angle, and she liked waking up with the sun.
The moment she appeared at the window, the barrage of gravel stopped. The man down below gesticulated.
Was he insane? Dawn was still hours away. Frowning—and wishing she was wearing something more alluring than flannel—she lifted the heavy wooden sash, leaned out and glared at him. “What do you want, Brody?” She shuddered as icy air poured into the room.
“Come down and unlock the front door. We need to talk.”
Was that a socially acceptable way of saying he hoped to end up in her bed? Fat chance. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I couldn’t sleep. Please, Cate. It’s important.”
Nothing else he could have said at this hour would have induced her to let the wolf into the henhouse. The truth was, though, they did need to talk. Desperately, and soon. Her secret had been weighing heavily on her, and she was running out of time.
“Fine. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Despite the virtue-protecting properties of flannel, she wasn’t about to meet Brody wearing her nightgown. Grabbing up a pair of jeans and a warm red cashmere sweater, she dressed rapidly and shoved her feet into a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Her hair was a tumbled mess, but she didn’t really care. Making herself appear alluring to Brody Stewart was what had gotten her into this wretched state of affairs to begin with.
She didn’t turn on any lights as she made her way downstairs. If any of her neighbors were awake, she’d just as soon not have them know she had a late-night guest. Gossip was the bread of life in Candlewick. Cate’s personal situation had already edged into the danger zone.
Unlocking the dead bolt and yanking open the door, she shivered and jumped back when Brody burst into the shop. “Damn, it’s cold out there,” he complained.
“Where’s your coat?” In the dark, he was bigger than she remembered from the autumn. More in-your-face masculine.
“I was in a hurry. I forgot it.”
“Come on back to the office,” she muttered, careful not to brush up against him. “I’ll get the fire going.”
He followed her down the narrow hallway without speaking and stood in silence as she lit the pile of kindling and wood chips beneath carefully stacked logs. Cate had a handyman who stopped by whenever she asked him—this time of year usually to clean out the grate and restock her woodpile. The fireplace and chimney had been cleaned and inspected regularly, so she had no qualms about using it. Another hearth upstairs in her tiny living room provided warmth and cheer for her apartment.
She wiped her hands on a cloth and indicated one of the tapestry wingback chairs in navy and gold. They were ancient and faded, but the twin antiques had come with the store. She loved them. “Have a seat, Brody. And tell me what’s so important it couldn’t wait until morning.” She would let him speak his piece, and then she would find the courage to tell him the secret she had been hiding from everyone, including him.
Brody sat, but his posture indicated unease. She had purposely not turned on the lamps. Firelight was flattering. It also lent a sense of peace and calm to a situation that was anything but. In the flickering glow, Brody’s profile was shadowed. Occasionally, when the flames danced particularly high, a flash of light caught the gold in his hair.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at her, his expression impossible to read. “I owe you an apology,” he said gruffly.
Her heart thudded. “For what?”
“For what I’m about to say.”
Her stomach cringed. “I don’t understand.”
“Four months ago you and I had something pretty damned wonderful. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to take you upstairs right now and make love to you for three days straight.”
The utter, bald conviction in his words made her light-headed with yearning, but nothing he had said so far erased the certainty of impending doom. “I sense a but coming.” She kept the words light. It took everything she had. Already her heart was freezing, preparing to shatter.
“But I can’t fool around with you and still tend to Granny Isobel at the same time. I have a responsibility to discharge.”
“How very noble,” she mocked, her throat tight with painful tears she couldn’t, wouldn’t, shed.
His jaw tightened. “I never meant to return. My father was in contact with Granny from the moment I left until last week. Every time he spoke with her she told him things were fine. We assumed she had put the business and the house on the market immediately and would come back to Scotland as soon as the transactions were complete.”
“Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I don’t think any of you know her very well. It would take a stick of dynamite to blast her out of this town. If she wants to stay, she’ll stay.”
“Ach, Cate. I ken that very well...now. Do you think you could talk to her? As a favor to me?”
“I could, but I won’t. It’s not my place. She’s my friend. My job is to support her.”
“Surely you can see it’s time for her to go.”
“With you and Duncan...”
“Aye.”
“Why couldn’t one of you stay here?” Cate was fighting for her future. Isobel’s happiness was important, but more was at stake.
Brody shook his head almost violently. “It doesn’t make sense. Granny has lived a full and wonderful life. Seasons change, and now her time in Candlewick is done.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an arrogant, blind, foolish ass of a Scotsman?”
“Don’t hold back, Cate.”
She leaped to her feet. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” The words she needed to say trembled on her lips. I’m pregnant, Brody. With your baby. She had intended—any day now—to send a registered letter to Scotland. Terse. To the point. Morally correct. Absolving him of any responsibility.
It had seemed like a sound plan until Brody showed up in the flesh. Seeing him again was shocking. She hadn’t expected to feel so giddy with delight. Nor so bleakly sure that this man was neither the answer to her problems nor the knight on the white horse.
She was still trying to come to terms with the news of her pregnancy. Her periods had never been regular, so she had been twelve weeks along before she went to the doctor and confirmed that her fatigue and queasiness were far more than a temporary condition.
The idea of having a baby had come completely out of the blue, but was not entirely unwelcome. She had always loved children. She was warming quickly to the notion of being a mother. She would do her best to be the kind of warm, nurturing parent she herself had never known. Her mother and father had gone through the motions, but their behavior had been motivated by duty, not gut-deep devotion.
Other worries intruded. What if Brody tried to take their child away from her...insisted the baby live in Scotland? Was that why she had struggled so over composing the letter? The Stewart-clan pride ran deep, centuries in the making. The mere thought of losing custody made her maternal instincts, hitherto unknown, scratch their way to the surface. She would fight Brody, if need be. She would fight all of them. This baby was hers.
Brody wouldn’t be sticking around long this time, perhaps far less than the four weeks he devoted to his grandmother when he visited so soon after the funeral. Clearly, he didn’t have any residual feelings for Cate. At least no more than the lust a man feels for a woman he’s bedded. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be making such a point of not resurrecting their affair.
If she could wait him out, avoid him, stay clear of the family drama, Brody would leave again and Cate would never have to tell him the truth.
She knew in her heart that idea was wrong. A man deserved to know he had fathered a child. Besides, wouldn’t Miss Izzy let the cat out of the bag eventually? Cate’s elderly friend was far from stupid or naive. She knew her grandson and her neighbor had spent a great deal of time together back in the autumn.
Even if Isobel hadn’t guessed before now about Cate and Brody’s sexual intimacy, once Cate’s belly began to swell visibly, Isobel would do the math and realize that she was going to have another Stewart in the works.
Tension wrapped Cate’s skull in a headache. She was an intelligent, educated woman. Surely there was a way forward.
Tell him, her gut insisted. Tell him. Postponing the truth would only make things more difficult. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. What would he say? How would he respond? She felt fragile and helpless, and she hated both emotions.
The baby was only now becoming real to Cate herself. How much more unbelievable would conception seem to Brody? Because Cate’s sex life had been nonexistent since moving to Candlewick, she hadn’t been taking birth control pills when she met the handsome Scotsman. Brody had been happy to produce a seemingly never-ending supply of condoms.
But there had been that one time in the middle of the night, that poignant, dreamlike coupling, a series of moments as natural as breathing. They had found each other with hushed sighs and ragged groans in the mystical hours when the world slept. She had spread her legs for him, and he had claimed her as his. For all she knew, Brody might not even remember. He’d made love to her many times. Perhaps they all ran together for a man.
Cate remembered each one in vivid detail.
This was not the time to dwell on the past. Nor was it the moment to wallow in grief. She didn’t know Brody Stewart well enough to let him break her heart. Love didn’t happen so quickly.
She almost believed it.
While she paced, Brody leaned back in his chair, waiting. Judge and jury. He expected Cate to choose his side, to align herself with the grandsons and not Isobel.
If Cate had believed it was the right thing to do, she might have capitulated. Instead, her heart told her she had to fight for the old woman’s happiness...and her own. At last, she stopped. She stood at his knees, her arms wrapped around her waist. “Go home, Brody, you and Duncan both. Give her a chance to settle back into the house. Now that she’s been up there again, I think she’ll quit living over the store.”
“And then?”
She shrugged. “Then nothing. You live your life in Scotland. She lives hers here in Candlewick. I’ll call you when the time comes.”
“When she dies.”
“If you want to be blunt about it, yes.”
He straightened slowly, unfolding his tall, lanky frame and flexing his wrists until they popped. Despite his self-professed temporary vow of celibacy, he put his hands on her shoulders and massaged them.
Cate couldn’t decide if he was attempting to comfort her, or if he was trying to avoid shaking her until her teeth rattled.
Maybe he subconsciously wanted to touch her. She didn’t know.
Brody rested his forehead against hers. “You’re trying to make me lose my temper, Catie lass, but it won’t work. I came here to take care of my grandmother’s affairs, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Your way.”
“It’s the only way, or at least the only way that makes sense.”
His breath was warm on her face. The masculine scent of his skin filled her lungs when she inhaled sharply, imprinting on every cell of her body. Brody was not a man one could easily forget. She leaned into him, blaming her weakness on the late hour and her bone-deep distress. “I won’t help you manipulate her, Brody. I won’t.”
His chest rose and fell in a sigh so deep it made her sad. “I suppose I can understand that. At least promise me you won’t be deliberately obstructive. Duncan and I love Granny. We’ll take care of her, Cate.”
She nodded, her eyes damp. Was it hormones making her weepy or the knowledge that something miraculous had happened? She and Brody had created a baby. People did that every day in every way. But sheer numbers didn’t make the awe she felt any less.
With her breasts brushing the hard planes of Brody’s chest and her barely-there pregnant tummy nestled against him, she felt an incredible surge of hope mixed with despair. What she wanted from him was the stuff of fairy tales. The gallant suitor. The happy ending.
She made herself step away. “I need to go back to bed,” she said. “Please leave.”
Brody cupped her cheeks in his big, calloused hands. Years of handling rope and sails had toughened his body. Even without Isobel’s estate, Brody’s fleet of boats had made him a wealthy man. Isobel had bragged about it often enough. The eventual inheritance would secure his fortune.
His big frame actually shuddered, his arousal impossible to miss. “If it was going to be anybody, it would be you, Cate. But I’ve never been much for home and hearth.”
“Thank you for being honest,” she whispered.
Pressing his lips to hers, he kissed her long and deep. It was a goodbye kiss, bittersweet, painfully bereft of hope. The kind of kiss lovers exchanged on the dock when moviegoers knew the hero was never coming back.
Cate twined her arms around Brody’s neck and clung. If this was all she would ever have of him, she needed a memory to sustain her. She could be a single mother. Lots of women did it every day. She wouldn’t be any man’s obligation.
There was a moment when the tide almost turned. Brody was hard and ready. His hands roved restlessly over her back and settled on her bottom, dragging her close. His hunger made him weak and Cate strong. But she had always been the kind of girl to play by the rules.
Only twice in her life had she broken them, and both times she had paid a high price.
Drawing on a dwindling store of resolve, she released him and eluded his questing hands. “Go,” she said. “Go, Brody.”
And he did.
Four (#ucbbd8857-d206-52ea-9c1d-de08b3efc14a)
Brody spent the following week working himself into a state of physical exhaustion so pervasive and so deep he fell into bed each night and was instantly unconscious. Six months of neglect had left Isobel’s spectacular house with a host of issues and problems to be addressed.
He and Duncan made massive lists and checked them off with painstaking slowness. Damaged roofing shingles from a winter storm. Rotting wood beneath a soffit. Gutters clogged with leaves.
Some of the backlog of general repairs dated back to his grandfather’s illness. The old man had suffered a stroke five months before he died. Virtually nothing had been done to the house, inside or outside, for almost a year.
Isobel was a wealthy woman. Brody and Duncan could easily have hired a crew to come in and do everything. But the two grandsons were silently paying penance for not coming sooner and staying longer.
The very depth of their guilt made Brody realize that returning to Scotland without their grandmother was going to be unacceptable.
No matter what Cate said, Candlewick was not Isobel’s home anymore. Without her beloved American-born husband, she would be far better off to cross the ocean with her two devoted grandsons and settle in amongst the people of her youth.
On the eighth day, Brody and Duncan abandoned the house so a professional cleaning service could descend upon the mountaintop retreat and restore the estate to its previous glory.
While that refreshing and refurbishing was underway, the two men helped Isobel pack up her personal items downtown, everything she had taken with her when she moved into the apartment over her offices.
While Duncan carried a stack of boxes down to the car, Brody sat beside his grandmother and took her hands in his. “You know this is only temporary, Granny...a few nights for you to say goodbye to the house. I contacted a Realtor this morning about preparing the listing.”
Isobel Stewart pursed her lips and straightened her spine. Her dark eyes snapped and sparked with displeasure. “I love you dearly, Brody, but you’re a stubborn ass, exactly like your father and your grandfather before you. I am neither weak nor senile nor in any kind of physical decline. I’m old. I get it. But my age doesn’t give you the right to usurp my decision-making.”
Brody ground his teeth. “Duncan and I have lives we’ve put on hold. We did it gladly, because you’re very important to us.”
Her fierce expression softened. “I appreciate your concern. I truly do, my lad. But you’re making a mistake, and you’re being unfair. I’m moving back into my beautiful home—thanks to you boys—but I’m not returning to Scotland. My dear Geoffrey is buried in Candlewick. Everything we built together is here in the mountains. I can’t leave him behind. I won’t.”
“It’s dangerous for you to live alone,” Brody said, incredulous to realize that he was losing the battle. Isobel would have been far safer to stay here in town where people could keep an eye on her. Now he and Duncan had convinced her to do the very thing they wanted to avoid.
“Life is a dangerous business,” the old woman said, her expression placid. “I make my own choices. You can go home with no regrets.”
Brody knelt at her side, putting his gaze level with hers. “Please, Granny. For me. Come to Scotland.”
She shook her head slowly. “No. I’ve been away from Scotland too long. Candlewick is my home. Your grandfather and I, together, built something important here...a legacy. We spent so many happy days and months and years creating a host of memories that are all I have left of him. But I might consider a wee compromise if another party is agreeable.”
He couldn’t imagine any scenario that would make the situation palatable. “Oh?”
His grandmother stood and smoothed the skirt of her black shirtwaist dress that might have been designed anytime in the last six decades. Jet buttons marched all the way up to her chin. “I could ask Cate to move in with me. I’d offer her a modest stipend to be my companion. Keeping a bookstore afloat in the current economic climate is challenging. I’m sure the extra money would help. The girl works herself to death.”
Brody bristled inwardly. “I would think Cate’s family might help out if she’s struggling financially or otherwise. Why does she need you?” Isobel was his grandmother, not Cate’s.
“You’re being churlish. Tell him, Duncan.”
Brody’s younger brother shut the door to the stairwell and leaned against it, grimacing. “I missed some of that. I love you, Granny. But I have to agree with Brody on this one. We don’t want to leave you here in Candlewick all alone, and we can’t stay much longer.”
Isobel held out her hands. “My idea isn’t entirely selfish. Cate has no family of her own. I don’t like to divulge her secrets, but you’ve left me little choice. Her parents are both deceased. They had Cate late in life...an accident.”
Brody frowned. “What do you know about them?”
“They were academics. Valued education above all else. I get the impression they were not warm, nurturing people.”
“How did she end up in Candlewick?” Brody asked.
“I suggest you ask Cate herself if you want to know. She’s a private woman. But I trust her implicitly.”
Duncan nodded. “You make a convincing argument. I like Cate. It’s not altogether a terrible idea.”
Brody glared at his brother. “I thought you were on my side, traitor.”
Duncan wrapped his grandmother in his arms from behind and rested his chin on top of her gray-haired head. “It’s not a war, Brody. I love you both, so don’t make me choose. I don’t know what the hell is the right thing to do anymore.”
Isobel patted his hands and smirked at Brody. “Then I suppose one of you needs to call that very nice caterer and see if he can whip us up another of his wonderful meals this evening. We’ll invite Cate to even out the numbers, and after we’ve plied her with wine and good food, I’ll ask her to consider my proposition.”
* * *
Cate drove up the mountain alone this time. Apparently, Miss Izzy’s two grandsons had convinced her to leave her nest above the store.
While Cate applauded acknowledging grief and moving on, it was hard to imagine tiny Isobel sleeping all alone in a six-thousand-square-foot house. Even the thought of it squeezed Cate’s heart.
She hadn’t wanted to come tonight. The prospect of seeing Brody again turned her bones weak with dread. So many emotions. Guilt. Longing. Wishing for a miracle.
An hour ago she had almost canceled. Suddenly, overnight it seemed, none of her clothes fit. The waistbands of every pair of jeans she owned refused to button. Even her shirts and bras strained to confine her burgeoning breasts. Of course, she wasn’t going to head up the mountain in anything but her Sunday best. So she found a loose, long-sleeved knit dress in a modern geometric print of blue and navy hiding in the back of her closet and put it on.
Only the most discerning glance would notice the swell of her pregnant belly. After sliding her feet into low heels and grabbing up a sweater in case the house was drafty, she turned her attention to her hair.
Her instinct was to leave it up in its usual knot on the back of her head. But something told her Brody would see the hairstyle as an in-your-face challenge. They had argued about it often enough. Cate liked her hair to be neat and under control. Brody said it was a sin to hide sunshine from the world.
Despite the current situation, when she remembered their flirtation—barely disguised as squabbles—she had to smile. Feeling Brody’s hands in her hair had seduced her as surely as his kisses. He touched her gently but surely, clearly knowing that any token protest on her part was doomed to failure.
When the two of them had lain naked in bed together, Brody played with her hair endlessly. Even now, when she brushed the long, thick mass, she felt a frisson of sensation, of memory, snake down her spine. Most days her hair felt like a burden. When she was with Brody, he made her believe it was a sexy, feminine crowning glory.
Hell’s bells. This was not the time to be thinking about Brody. She put a hand to her stomach, flattened her fingers and tried to feel something, anything. Shouldn’t she be able to detect the baby moving by now? Were all mothers-to-be this nervous and unsure?
She wanted desperately to have someone else to talk to about her pregnancy. By her deliberate choices, she had no friends in Candlewick close enough to be considered confidantes. Five years ago she had been too wounded and wary to cultivate deep relationships with other women her age. Once she was back on her feet emotionally, she had already gained a reputation as a loner.
Glancing in the mirror, she noted her flushed cheeks and wild-eyed expression. If she didn’t get ahold of her pinballing, hormone-driven mental state, both Brody and Duncan, and Miss Izzy were going to know something was wrong.
Twenty minutes later she parked in front of Isobel’s house, noting with interest, even in the fading light, the way the grounds had been spruced up already. Duncan met her at the door and welcomed her. Was that a deliberate snub on Brody’s part? A signal that he’d been very serious about not picking up where they left off?
Perhaps she was being too sensitive. As it turned out, Brody and his grandmother were in the midst of a fiercely competitive game of chess. Duncan and Cate found them in the formal living room, seated on either side of a red-and black-lacquered gaming table.
Geoffrey and Isobel had traveled the world during the course of their marriage. Their home was filled with priceless artwork of all kinds.
Brody looked up when Cate entered the room. He lost his focus momentarily, and Isobel smirked. “Checkmate,” she crowed.
“Nice job, Granny,” he said absently. He stood and took Cate’s hand, lifting it to his lips. “You look stunning, Cate. In fact, if a Scotsman can be forgiven for hyperbole, you glow.”
“Thank you,” she said, her throat dry. She stepped away and broke his light hold. She couldn’t bear to be so close to him with her emotions in turmoil.
The two Stewart brothers were clad in hand-tailored suits and crisp white dress shirts. Duncan’s tie was blue. Brody’s red. Either man could have graced the cover of GQ, but it was Brody whose intense stare made Cate’s knees quiver. In more formal clothing, he carried an air of command that was the tiniest bit intimidating.
The other three seemed to be waiting on something. Cate lifted a shoulder. “So what’s the occasion? Another birthday? Miss Izzy was very mysterious when she called earlier.”
Duncan grinned. If Cate’s heart hadn’t been otherwise inclined, the younger Stewart brother might have won her over. “We have a proposition for you.”
Cate shot Brody a startled glance. “Kinky,” she muttered, low enough that Miss Izzy couldn’t hear. The old woman’s wits were razor-sharp, but her hearing was going.
Brody glared at her. “Behave, Cate. This is serious.”
How dare he chastise her? “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Stewart. Please. I’m all ears. What is this mysterious proposition?”
Isobel elbowed her way between her two strapping grandsons and linked her arm with Cate’s. “We’ll talk about it together over dinner, my dear. Our caterer is amazing, but he’s somewhat temperamental. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Forty-five minutes later, with both the soup and salad courses behind them, Cate still hadn’t heard anything of substance that warranted this fancy occasion. The food she had eaten rested heavy in her stomach, though it was undoubtedly haute cuisine.
Nerves made her jumpy and tense.
Unfortunately, the Stewart family decided it was a good time to talk about the ubiquitous Scottish dish haggis. Isobel shook her head. “I ate it as a lass, but I’d not be so eager to try it now.”
Duncan’s grin was mischievous. “What about you, Cate? Would you be game to try our native delicacy?”
Please, God, let them be joking. Surely the American caterer wasn’t going that route. She gulped inwardly. “I’ve heard of it, of course. But to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what it is.”
Brody stared at her. “I don’t think Cate would be a fan.”
“How would you know what I like?” she snapped.
He lifted one supercilious eyebrow. “A sheep’s heart, lungs and liver? Chopped up and mixed with onion and oatmeal and all manner of other ingredients...then boiled in the sheep’s stomach? Really, Cate? We may not know each other all that well, but you surprise me.”
Bile rose in her throat. Her belly heaved in distress. “Oh. Well, no. I suppose not. Sounds revolting.”
Duncan took pity on her and changed the subject. The shift gave her a few minutes to breathe and get herself under control. Brody, damn his sorry black-hearted hide, smirked as if he had bested her somehow. Not a chance. Not a damned chance in the world.
While they waited on the main course, Isobel finally grimaced. “Well, lass, here it is. The boys want me to sell out and go back to Scotland. I’ve let them know unequivocally that I’m not going to do that.”
“Oh?” Cate felt as if she were treading a minefield. Neither Duncan nor Brody seemed in any way lighthearted or even at ease about this conversation. Was this some kind of trap for Cate? Did Miss Izzy need Cate to cast a deciding vote?
Isobel nodded, although Cate hadn’t really said anything. “I offered a compromise. One the boys believe has merit.”
“And that is?”
Izzy smiled gently. “I’d like you to consider moving in here with me as my paid companion. I wouldn’t take you away from the bookstore, of course. Your wonderful shop is part of the charm of Candlewick. But my grandsons would feel better knowing that someone was officially looking after me.”
“I already do that anyway.” Cate frowned. “I care about you, Miss Izzy. And I’m happy to consider moving up here on the mountain with you, but I won’t take any money. That’s unacceptable.”
Brody, the man whose flashing smile was the first thing she had noticed about him months ago, seemed to do nothing but frown at her now. His black scowl pinned her to her chair. “Try not to be difficult, Cate. Granny isn’t a charity case. She can afford to pay for in-home help.”
Cate was generally even-tempered, but Brody’s condescending attitude nicked her on the raw. “Isobel is my friend,” she said. “It seems to me this is an issue she and I can negotiate on our own. Or perhaps you and Duncan think I’ll make the house too crowded.”
“Oh, no,” Izzy said. “The boys are leaving.”
“Leaving?” Cate’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. Her stomach clenched. “When?”
Duncan picked up the conversational ball, since his brother was sitting silent and stone-faced with his arms crossed over his chest. “Our tickets are open-ended, but probably in a couple of days. Granny has made up her mind. Since we won’t be dealing with real estate issues, we’ll head on home and probably make another visit later...in the summer, no doubt.”
Cate’s skin was clammy and cold, though she felt feverish and overheated from the inside out. Brody was leaving. Dear Lord. What was she going to do? She had to tell him. Or did she?
Perspiration dotted her upper lip. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She stood up, deathly ill, desperate to make it to the restroom before she broke down in tears.
Humiliation and rage and sheer distress tore her in a dozen directions. Is this what hyperventilation felt like? Nausea rolled through her belly. Not once in her shocking pregnancy had she experienced more than mild discomfort. Now, at the worst possible moment, puking her guts out was a very real possibility.
As she lurched to her feet, her chair wobbled and almost overturned. She grabbed for something, anything. With one hand she gripped the wooden edge of the seat back. With the other, she reached blindly for the table.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t feel well.”
She took a step toward the hallway. Her legs buckled. She heard a trio of shouts. Then her world went black.
Five (#ucbbd8857-d206-52ea-9c1d-de08b3efc14a)
Brody leaped to his feet in horror, but he was too late to catch Cate. She crumpled like a graceful swan. Unfortunately, she was close enough to the sideboard to clip her head as she went down. A gash marred her high, pale forehead. “Bloody hell.” He crouched beside her, his heart racing in panic. “Get some ice, Duncan.”
Isobel sat awkwardly on the floor at Cate’s hip. The old woman suffered from advanced arthritis in every joint, but she took one of Cate’s hands and patted it over and over again. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Cate. Cate, dear. Open your eyes.”
Cate was milk-pale and completely limp and unresponsive. Brody tasted real fear. “Damn it, Duncan! Where’s the ice?”
Duncan appeared on the run, out of breath and agitated. “What’s wrong with her?” The zip-top plastic bag of ice he carried was wrapped in a thin cotton dish towel.
“Hell if I know. I can’t leave her on the floor, though. Hold the ice to her head while I move her.” Carefully, Brody scooped Cate up in his arms. She was slender, but tall, so he grunted as he lifted her dead weight. Her gorgeous, sunlit hair cascaded over his arm. The scent of her shampoo and the feel of her feminine body in his arms excoriated him.
Ever since his visit to Cate’s bookstore four nights ago, he had second-guessed himself a million times. His decision not to continue their physical relationship seemed like the mature, reasonable choice. It wasn’t fair to Cate to pick up where they left off, and what he had told her was true. He needed time with his grandmother. More important, he wasn’t a man who had any intention of settling down to family life.
Cate was not a one-night-stand kind of woman.
But God knew, he had vastly underestimated how hard it was going to be to stay away from her now that they were, at least for the moment, living in the same town. He strode down the hallway with only one destination in mind. Entering his bedroom, he motioned for Duncan to throw back the covers.
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