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The Brain and The Beauty
Betsy Eliot
IT WAS A MANSION RIGHT OUT OF A GOTHIC NOVEL…And so was the gruff stranger who told Abby Melrose to go home. But she'd come to Dr. Jeremy Waters for help with her exceptional little boy, and she didn't scare easily. The handsome recluse might be off-the-charts smart, but common sense told Abby he needed her as much as she needed him.Jeremy was a genius, but he was also a red-blooded male, and the determined single mother's arguments–not to mention her beauty–were crumbling the once-solid walls surrounding his lonely heart. Before long, Jeremy knew even a know-it-all had something to learn–especially when it came to the true meaning of love…
“I can’t know what you and my son know. I can’t see what you both see. I will never be able to fit into your world.”
Jeremy absorbed the pain that came from Abby’s admission, even as he felt the shock that he could still be hurt.
“But in some ways your life isn’t so different from what I faced,” she continued. “I was the prettiest girl in school, the one everyone wanted to date, the one everyone wanted to be seen with.”
“Is that your argument for identifying with my life?”
“Maybe not, but my point is that nobody ever really took the time to get to know me. They never bothered to look deeper, to find out if there was something more than a pretty shell. So I can understand how it might have felt for you when they didn’t bother to look deeper than how you think. I think there’s more to you than a brilliant reclusive outcast.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “That’s exactly what I am.”
Dear Reader,
We have some incredibly fun and romantic Silhouette Romance titles for you this July. But as excited as we are about them, we also want to hear from you! Drop us a note—or visit www.eHarlequin.com—and tell us which stories you enjoyed the most, and what you’d like to see from us in the future.
We know you love emotion-packed romances, so don’t miss Cara Colter’s CROWN AND GLORY cross-line series installment, Her Royal Husband. Jordan Ashbury had no idea the man who’d fathered her child was a prince—until she reported for duty at his palace! Carla Cassidy spins an enchanting yarn in More Than Meets the Eye, the first of our A TALE OF THE SEA, the must-read Silhouette Romance miniseries about four very special siblings.
The temperature’s rising not just outdoors, but also in Susan Meier’s Married in the Morning. If the ring on her finger and the Vegas hotel room were any clue, Gina Martin was now the wife of Gerrick Green! Then jump into Lilian Darcy’s tender Pregnant and Protected, about a fiery heiress who falls for her bodyguard.…
Rounding out the month, Gail Martin crafts a fun, lighthearted tale about two former high school enemies in Let’s Pretend…. And we’re especially delighted to welcome new author Betsy Eliot’s The Brain & the Beauty, about a young mother who braves a grumpy recluse in his dark tower.
Happy reading—and please keep in touch!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
The Brain & the Beauty
Betsy Eliot
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Diane Eliot.
You told me you wanted to be the best mother-in-law in the world and you succeeded. I thank you for that and for so much more, but mostly, I thank you for Peter.
BETSY ELIOT
As a teenager, Betsy Eliot’s theme song was “I Am Woman (Hear Me Roar).” She’s roaring still, now as the author of romance novels. Married to her childhood sweetheart, Peter, she has two wonderful children, Peter and Marie, who have believed in her since they were too young to know better.
Betsy has won several writing awards, including Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart Award. She served as the president of the New England Chapter of RWA and received the Goldrick Service Award for service to the chapter. She has published two books under the name Elizabeth Eliot. She hopes Helen Reddy would be proud.
You may write to Betsy at P.O. Box 1237, Dedham, MA 02027 or visit her Web site at www.betsyeliot.com (http://www.betsyeliot.com).
Dear Reader,
Like all romance readers and writers, I believe in happy endings. For me, this book is proof that they really can come true.
The path to get here wasn’t without a few challenges— what would a romance novel be without them? But along the way, I have also had some thrilling moments that I will always remember: winning RWA’s Golden Heart Contest, finding an amazing agent willing to take a chance on an unpublished writer, sharing each victory and defeat with a sisterhood of fellow writers and knowing I had the support of my family through it all. Finally, getting the news that Silhouette wanted to publish my book. This is something I’ve dreamed about for a long time.
So, thank you for sharing this moment with me. I hope you enjoy my first Silhouette Romance and that there will be many more to come. You see, I also believe in happy beginnings.
Best wishes,
Contents
Chapter One (#ue05b8261-0ec2-5bd5-a800-e2d801c871d1)
Chapter Two (#ucbc799c5-fa88-5f07-a457-69862ab8fba8)
Chapter Three (#u2859b33e-6184-5e63-b176-f0e2a4b6c1c9)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
It sounded as if there was something being buried out behind the house.
Abby Melrose ignored the sound and pushed the doorbell, hearing the low-toned gong echo through the house. She waited for a servant or perhaps a butler named Igor to answer, but when there was no answer, she rang again. Then a third time, even knowing it was rude. Surely in a house this size there must be cooks or housekeepers, or at least a mad scientist or two.
She looked up at the dark stone exterior of the building and repressed a shiver. It wasn’t a castle, exactly, although it looked like something out of one of the spooky gothic novels she used to read before Robbie was born. She didn’t have time anymore to read about unsuspecting visitors held in spearing towers or innocent girls wandering through twisted halls.
But this wasn’t a chilling mystery novel and there was nothing she’d read about Dr. Jeremy Waters to suggest he had secret homicidal tendencies. Although the fact that he’d been certified as a genius at the age of seven was reason enough to make her jittery. After all, nobody had ever accused her of being too smart—as shown by her presence here today.
Dr. Waters hadn’t responded to any of her letters or phone calls, hadn’t indicated any interest in helping them. She’d driven over five hundred miles without any guarantee that he would even see them. If she could have come up with any better ideas, she’d have eagerly followed them. That was the problem. She was out of answers and nearly out of time.
When she’d stumbled on an old article about the former child prodigy, she knew she’d found someone who could help her. The story had described his ability to read at ten months and perform complex calculations by seven, reporting his talents with the tone of a carnival barker. A photo had shown a dark-haired boy with thick glasses and an oversize bow tie that made his head look too big for his little body.
Later, as little more than a young adult, he’d opened Still Waters, a school for gifted and talented children. From what she’d been able to discover, it had been a great success, but according to a form letter she’d received when she’d tried to contact him, the school had closed several years ago.
It would have been easier for Abby if it was still open, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She’d come too far and there was too much at stake to give up now.
She turned toward the car she’d left in the overgrown excuse for a driveway. Robbie waited patiently in the back seat, more patiently than any other five-year-old she’d ever seen. She gave him a cheerful shrug and held up her index finger with the signal to wait.
Trying not to feel like one of those silly heroines who hears a bump in the night and goes to investigate in her sheer white nightgown, she followed the sound around to the side of the house.
Just beyond the shroud of trees that had contributed to the gloomy feel, the land had been cleared and the hot sun of early summer once again beat down on her.
Instead of a gothic novel, the kind of book she’d been imagining shifted. Abby found her pulse racing for another reason entirely.
There was a man, all right, but he wasn’t digging the grave of his recently deceased wife. This was more like one of those books where the innocent, sexually frustrated wife of a neglectful husband stumbles upon the sexy gardener and is overcome with instant pangs of lust.
Well, she sighed, she wasn’t innocent, at least. She had a son to prove it.
Abby had to remind herself that she’d outgrown fiction the day Robbie was born. But she could look. She supposed there was no harm in just looking.
The man’s back was to her as he stabbed a hoe into the ground, loosening the dirt of a large vegetable garden. His hair was black and long, brushing his shoulders as he worked. An ancient pair of cutoff jean shorts rode low on his waist and hugged his behind when he bent. His shoulders were wide, his back solid, with the kind of powerful build that typically came from physical labor rather than pumping iron in a gym. The muscles in his arms bulged in a ragged sleeveless T-shirt as he swung the hoe and slammed it into the ground in a continuous motion. For a moment she was mesmerized by the swell and clench of the muscles, the almost poetic perfection of the male form. Abby had learned not to put much stock in appearance, but she couldn’t deny a purely female response.
She cleared her throat and concentrated on the matter at hand. “Excuse me.”
He didn’t appear to hear her, continuing with the repetitive motion that seemed to take his anger out on the rocky ground. It was a good thing he wasn’t a demented recluse, she thought. She wouldn’t have had a chance.
She stepped closer. “Excuse me,” she tried again. “I’m looking for Dr. Jeremy Waters.”
The hoe slammed into the ground with an angry whack and he turned to face her. The way he was glaring at her gave the impression that he’d known she was there all along.
Abby was used to people looking at her. The startling length of her white-blond hair and the green eyes that had been described as emerald so often that she’d come to hate the stone usually brought about an instant softening effect on the opposite sex.
Not on this man. Soft would be the last word she’d use to describe him. His face was a mass of contradictions, long and narrow with a square jaw and grooves instead of cheekbones. His nose looked like it had been broken on occasion and a tiny scar slashed across his chin. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes from this distance, but they were dark like his hair and the brows that scowled at her.
Abby had the strangest urge to run and check her own appearance. The old habit of carefully applied powders and paints caught her by surprise. For the last few years she’d done little more than pull her hair into an elastic and apply a gloss to her lips when she remembered. It was a long way for a woman who had once considered her looks her most valuable asset. That had been a lifetime ago, before Robbie had taught her what was really important.
“Who are you?” he demanded finally.
She jolted at the harsh tone, but refused to let him intimidate her. She’d allowed enough of that in the past. “My name is Abigail Melrose. Abby. I’m here to see Dr. Waters. Is he around?”
He continued to glare at her as if the force of his disapproval would chase her away. She’d have been tempted to take the hint if she had anywhere to run. “I’ve been in contact with him about my son, Robbie. I was hoping I could talk to Dr. Waters about him.”
He stared at her for so long, she began to wonder if he understood. Since people had always taken one look at her and assumed the same, she tried not to judge him based on his strong, silent type.
“You’ve come to the wrong place,” he said finally. “You should leave now.”
Abby took a deep breath and wondered what it was about her that made people want to tell her what to do. Her ex-husband had made the skill into an art form, always explaining to her in that smarter-than-thou tone that she should leave the thinking to him.
She wasn’t about to give up so easily. “Isn’t this the Still Waters School?”
“No.”
She frowned at his answer until she realized that technically it wasn’t a school anymore. “Is Dr. Waters here?” she tried again.
“I’m the only one here.”
Just her luck. She’d come all this way and he wasn’t even home. “Do you expect him back soon?”
It wasn’t a difficult question, but it appeared to give him trouble. Just when she was sure he wasn’t going to respond, he answered, “He’s not coming back.”
“Ever?”
He shrugged. “I suppose if he left he would have to come back sometime.”
“I see.” That was as clear as mud. “Maybe I could come back later. I want to talk to him about—”
“Talking’s not going to do you any good. Go away!”
This wasn’t just ill-mannered. This was rude. No wonder this man was working out here all alone, in the middle of nowhere. “I’m only asking for a minute of his time. Don’t you think he could give me that much?”
“Time can’t be given away.”
Abby paused. It was strange but his comment sounded like something Robbie would say. “That’s true, I suppose,” she responded finally. “Maybe I could borrow some.”
His frown deepened. “Are you making fun of me?”
Her mouth dropped. She’d be the last person to criticize. “Of course not. I’m just trying to explain…”
Once again, he interrupted her. “Were you invited?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then that’s not my problem.” He turned away as if their conversation had come to an end.
Abby resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “Look, I’ve come a very long way—”
“Five hundred and sixty-three miles to be exact,” Robbie clarified, approaching from around the house. “At an average forty-seven point six miles per hour, it took us seven hours and thirty-eight minutes, including rest stops. It would have been only three hundred and seventy-two miles if we could have flown with the crows.”
Her son, Abby thought, as she turned to look at him crossing the yard, saw the world a little differently than most five-year-olds. She felt the swell of pride as well as the ever-present shock that she’d managed to produce such a remarkable child. Physically she knew he resembled her, his blond hair curling around his head like a bobbing halo, his eyes bright with curiosity and intelligence that no jewel could hold. For her, those looks had been what made her special, but for Robbie they were barely a consideration. She often wondered what hiccup in her gene pool had made him her son.
She stepped closer, automatically drawing him to her side and placing a hand on his shoulder. She wasn’t even aware of the protective action until she saw the way the man observed her, coldly eyeing them both as if they were the ones who posed a threat.
“Honey, I told you to stay in the car,” she admonished gently. She didn’t want to expose Robbie to yet another disappointment and she’d already come to the conclusion that this man had no intention of helping them.
“I was bored.”
She couldn’t claim to be surprised. He’d flown through the collections of puzzles and brainteasers she’d painstakingly gathered for the trip in the first hour. Despite having the mind of a brilliant adult, he was still a little boy.
“Hello,” Robbie greeted the man with a maturity that would have made her doubt his youth if she hadn’t actually been a participant in his birth.
“Hello.”
