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Natalie didn’t have to ask for clarification. Amber thought there were few problems that couldn’t be alleviated by a night of partying. A hard worker during the week, she was an equally zealous fun-seeker during the weekends. She’d nagged Natalie for months to join her at some of the wilder Nashville clubs on a Friday or Saturday night, promising a “hot time” that would make all the tension knots in her neck and shoulders mysteriously disappear. Amber couldn’t understand why Natalie had been at all hesitant to accept.
At the time, Natalie had been worried about damaging her image as a serious, hardworking, ambitious attorney. Little had she known then that her reputation would soon take a much harder hit than if she’d merely been seen partying in a few clubs.
As for “some interesting guy”…she glanced toward the back door of the cabin, thinking of Casey, and knowing exactly how Amber would react if she could see him. She’d be all over the sexy maintenance man like “white on rice,” as Aunt Jewel would say, and she’d think Natalie was crazy for not at least trying to flirt with the guy. But then, Amber wasn’t in the process of fighting for her professional life, either.
“You’d better get back to work,” she said, deciding not to address her friend’s advice. “Thanks for calling.”
“You bet. We’re going to figure out who set you up this way, Nat,” Amber said loyally. “And when we do, everybody’s going to know about it. I’ll make sure of that.”
As she disconnected the call, Natalie wished there was some way she could let Amber know how much that support meant to her. So many of the people she had considered friends had dropped her like a hot potato after she was summarily fired from her position with the firm. They had been all too willing to believe she’d let greed trump ethics and had engaged in behavior that they should have realized was utterly foreign to her.
Unable to appreciate the nice weather or the beautiful scenery surrounding her, she closed her cell phone. Her lips felt dry and she realized she was thirsty. She’d stocked the fridge with her favorite bottled water. Rising, she moved toward the door, wondering idly if Casey had finished installing the fan yet.
He was standing at the sink when she entered the kitchen. Though his back was turned to her, he seemed to be fumbling with the roll of paper towels on the counter.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked.
He started and turned toward her, his left hand cupped in front of him. Something about the way he held it made her study him more closely. Only then did she notice the blood that dripped from his palm.
Sighing lightly, she moved toward him. “What have you done now? Let me see.”
If Casey’d had access to a teleporter, he would have beamed out of there right that minute. But since his sci-fi fandom was of no use to him just then, he squared his shoulders and tried to look nonchalant even though he was bleeding all over her kitchen.
“It’s just a scratch,” he assured her, closing his fist before she could see the wound. “I’ll wash it off and wrap a paper towel around it until it scabs over and it’ll be fine.”
“You don’t get that much blood from ‘just a scratch,’” she argued, reaching for his wrist. “I think you should let me look at it.”
“What are you, a doctor?” he asked, reluctantly opening his fingers.
“No, but I played one on TV,” she answered absently, wincing as she looked at the ragged gash across his palm.
“Kidding,” she added with a glance up at his face. “I’m not an actor. Casey, this is more than a scratch. How did you do it?”
Amused by her automatic quip—so he wasn’t the only popculture fan in the room—he shrugged, having no intention of telling her exactly how he’d sliced himself. “Just carelessness. I really don’t think it’s all that bad.”
She studied his palm again and the sight of her bent over his hand, peering so closely he could feel her warm breath on his skin, made an odd feeling go down his spine. At least, he assumed it was her closeness and not blood loss causing that sensation. He was a healthy, red-blooded—hah—young man, after all.
She glanced up at him again. “You’re dripping blood all over my floor and you find it funny?” she asked a bit too politely.
He stifled his inappropriate grin, suspecting she wouldn’t share his humor in the situation. “Sorry. I’ll clean up the mess, of course.”
“First, we’re going to have to stop the bleeding.” She tugged him toward the table. “Sit down. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
“I don’t—”
She gave him a look that reminded him oddly of his mother’s famous don’t-argue-with-me expression. His libido effectively quashed, he sank into a chair.
She returned a few minutes later carrying a small, white plastic box which she set on the table and opened purposefully. He grimaced when he saw that the first item she removed was an alcohol pad. That was going to sting.
“When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?” she asked, ripping open the packet containing the pad.
“Last year. I cut myself on some rusty barbed wire at my cousin’s ranch. Thought it was a good idea to have a tetanus shot after that.”
She dabbed the cut with the pad and he had to make an effort not to grunt. He’d anticipated correctly. It stung.
“Are you always so accident-prone?”
He frowned. “Not really.”
“Mmm.” She didn’t sound as if she entirely believed him.
He supposed he couldn’t blame her, really. He’d sprayed her with water fixing a pipe and sliced open his hand installing a fan. She’d probably expect him to break a leg or something if he had to climb a ladder.
“I don’t think you need stitches,” she said, studying the now-clean wound, which was still oozing blood, though the bleeding had slowed.
“Definitely don’t need stitches.”
She pulled out a tube of ointment and an adhesive bandage. “At least let me cover it so it will stay clean.”
He nodded, figuring that was a good idea.
Kneeling in front of him, she cradled his hand in hers as she carefully smoothed the ointment over his injury. She was wearing a thin, long-sleeved green sweater with a scoop neck. He realized that from this angle, he could see the creamy upper curves of her breasts. Any resemblance he’d seen in her to his mother disappeared. He lifted his gaze quickly to the window across the room before he embarrassed himself by visibly reacting to her crouching so close to him, looking like—well, like that, he thought with a fleeting glance back at her.
She looked up and met his eyes. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.” Aware that he’d spoken rather curtly, he looked out the window again. “Almost done?”
“Yes. Just let me—” She spread the bandage across his palm, centered the gauze part over the wound, then pressed down on the adhesive edges to secure it. “There. How does that feel?”
At that moment he didn’t feel a thing in his hand, though he was aware of plenty of sensations in other parts of him. Maybe the blood loss had affected him, he thought grimly, though he knew full well he hadn’t been injured badly enough for that to be an issue. “It feels fine. Thanks. I’d better wipe up in here and then get back to work. I still have to hang that mirror in the bathroom.”
“Are you sure you can work with that sore hand?”
“Oh, sure.” He flexed his fingers a few times in demonstration, managing not to wince with the movement. “It’s fine.”
“Did you finish installing the fan?”
“Yeah.” He had been cleaning up in there when he’d sliced himself with a box cutter while breaking down the fan’s cardboard box. Maybe he’d been a little distracted by the sight of a lacy nightgown peeking out of the top of a drawer. He had no intention of telling her either how—or why—he’d sustained the injury. “I’ll take care of this mess, and then I’ll hang the mirror and get out of your way.”
But she had already grabbed a paper towel and was scrubbing at the drops of blood on the countertop. “I’ve got this. You finish your work.”
It was obvious that she wasn’t one to be deterred once she’d made up her mind. Maybe she just wanted him to finish up and clear out quickly. Because it wasn’t worth an argument, he merely nodded. “All right. Thanks.”
She nodded in return, busily cleaning up the evidence of his latest act of clumsiness.
Shaking his head in self-reproof, he went back to her bedroom, suddenly wanting to be out of that cabin before his ego took an even harder hit. He seemed to feel that way every time he left Natalie, he thought with a rueful grimace.
Even as she drove the ten miles of winding roads down the mountain and into Gatlinburg early Friday evening, Natalie wished she could have found some reason to decline the dinner invitation that had brought her out of her solitude. Other than Casey and the one maintenance visit from Kyle, the only people Natalie had seen in the past week were her aunt and uncle. They’d popped in the day before to check on her and bring her a supply of Aunt Jewel’s home cooking, though she had assured them that wasn’t necessary.
She’d had phone calls, of course. Amber. Her dad. Her mom. All of them were worried about her, though only Amber and her father knew exactly why Natalie was no longer working for the firm in Nashville. She hadn’t even told her aunt Jewel the whole story, not wanting to upset her.
She had assured her callers that she was fine. She needed this time away. She needed the rest. She needed to regroup emotionally and wanted privacy in which to do some research on her own, while the private investigator she’d hired from the yellow pages did some discreet snooping back in Nashville. Her father was the only one who knew she’d hired the P.I.
Had her father lived in Nashville—or even in the same country—he might have gotten a bit more involved in the fight to clear his daughter’s name. But since he was currently working in the publishing industry in London, he’d been able to do little except offer long-distance advice and encouragement. Her mother, now married to a college professor in Oxford, Mississippi, tended to be more of a hand-wringer and worrier than a useful resource.
Natalie was pretty much on her own in this battle—but then, she was accustomed to taking care of herself. She’d done so since her parents had split up in a rather ugly divorce when she was eighteen.
Following the directions she’d been given, she parked in the driveway of Kyle and Molly’s lovely Gatlinburg home. They’d bought the house soon after their marriage just over four years ago. Before that, Molly had lived on a ranch in Texas and Kyle in one of the cabins they now rented out to vacationers.
A brightly colored, plastic, three-wheel riding toy partially blocked the stone walkway. Bypassing it, Natalie stepped onto the long porch that fronted the yellow frame house with pristine white trim and shutters. The inviting porch seemed well utilized. A swing at one end was padded with yellow and green patterned cushions; two rocking chairs with matching cushions sat nearby. Big planters held vibrant autumn chrysanthemums, and a couple more toys peeked from behind one of those pots.
She pressed the doorbell. What sounded like a small dog immediately went into a frenzy of barking inside, and she sighed. She wasn’t particularly fond of hyper, little purse puppies.
The door opened and Kyle greeted her with a slight smile. “Hi, Natalie. Did you have any trouble finding us?”
“Not a bit. Your directions were very good.”
“Come on in. Be quiet, Poppy,” he added with what sounded like weary resignation as he glanced down at the yapping brown-and-white Chihuahua at his feet.
“Sorry,” he said when Natalie walked in. “The stupid dog thinks he’s a Doberman. He doesn’t actually bite, he just wants you to think he will.”
“He? Didn’t you call it Poppy?”
He chuckled wryly. “Olivia named him. She loves the little fleabag.”
Poppy had already turned and ripped into another room, his job as guard dog apparently completed. Kyle gestured in the same direction, inviting Natalie to precede him. “Just follow the dog.”
Smiling, she moved toward an open doorway that led into what she assumed was a family room. The dog was now in the arms of a little girl with bright red curls and a freckled, pixie face. She looked strikingly like her mother, who rose from the couch as Natalie came in.
“Natalie,” Molly said, moving toward her. “We’re so glad you could come tonight.”
“I was delighted to be asked,” Natalie fibbed politely.
Something made her glance behind her. Casey sat quietly in a rocking chair holding an infant and meeting Natalie’s gaze with an openly amused expression that told her he knew she hadn’t expected to see him there. “Hi, Natalie.”
She managed to return the greeting casually enough. “Hello, Casey.”
“Kyle and I haven’t entertained since Micah was born, so we thought we’d turn this into a real dinner party,” Molly explained cheerily. “We invited Jewel and Mack, but Jewel had her Bible study group tonight, and Mack said he was a little tired.”
Natalie was on the verge of replying when something bumped her leg. She looked down to see Molly’s three-year-old daughter tapping with one hand against Natalie’s gray slacks in an obvious bid for attention. “Hi.”
As an only child whose friends were mostly singles, Natalie had been around very few small children. She moistened her lips and said, “Hello, Olivia.”
“This is Poppy,” the child added, holding up the wriggling dog that seemed to be doing its best to lick every inch of Olivia’s cheeks.
“Yes, Poppy and I met already.”
“C’mon, Livvie, let’s get you washed up for dinner,” Kyle said, scooping up both daughter and dog. Natalie noticed his slight limp, but it didn’t seem to impede his progress as he carried the giggling child and yipping dog out of the room.
Molly followed her family toward the door. “Make yourself comfortable, Natalie. I’ll be ready to serve dinner in about five minutes.”
“Let me help you,” Natalie offered quickly.
But Molly shook her head. “Everything’s almost ready. You stay and keep Casey company while he babysits for me.”
Great. Casey and a baby. Both of whom made her unaccountably nervous.
She perched on the edge of an armchair, mentally groping for something to say. “How’s your hand?”
He held his hand up, palm out, to show her a fresh bandage. “Much better. I’m keeping it covered just as a precaution, but I can tell it’s going to heal quickly.”
“That’s good.” That subject exhausted, she nodded toward the baby in the crook of Casey’s arm. “You look pretty comfortable. Do you have a lot of experience with kids?”
Casey glanced down at the sleeping infant and chuckled. “In our family, it’s hard to avoid them. I have fourteen first cousins on my dad’s side—Molly’s side—and several of them have kids. The Walker clan’s pretty tight, always getting together for some occasion or another. It’s not at all unusual for thirty or more of us to be gathered at the ranch that belongs to Molly’s dad, my uncle, Jared.”
Daunted by the mental image of all those relatives in one place, many of them children, she swallowed. “Wow.”
Casey laughed, making the baby start a little, though he didn’t wake up. “Yeah, a lot of people react that way.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
He shook his head. “I’m an only. But I never lacked for playmates with so many cousins. Especially the twins, Andrew and Aaron. There’s just a few months’ difference between our ages and our fathers are identical twins, so we spent a lot of time together, along with our cousin Jason D’Alessandro, who’s a couple years older than I am.”
“Your father’s a twin?”
“Right. And his brother has twin sons of his own. We’re all used to seeing double.”
“I see.” Sounded a bit confusing to her, but then, she didn’t have that much experience with family.
Her mother had a brother, but they hadn’t lived in the same state for decades and didn’t see each other very often, so Natalie hardly knew her cousins on that side. Her father had been one of four brothers. Jewel was the youngest sibling and the only girl. Because her father and Jewel had been the closest of the Lofton siblings, Natalie had seen her aunt Jewel more than the rest of the family. She’d always looked forward to summer vacations in Gatlinburg, back when her family had been intact and at least outwardly happy together.
Though he’d been a few years older than Natalie, Tommy had always been a gracious and patient host, taking his younger cousin hiking in the mountains, teaching her to fish in the numerous area streams and accompanying her to a nearby amusement park. He had even taken her white-water rafting when he was a mature eighteen and she a hero-worshipping fourteen-year-old.
She still missed Tommy with a pang like a knife through her heart whenever she remembered those happy childhood times, before her parents’ divorce and before Tommy had joined the military. That had been one of the hardest things about coming here to lick her wounds and plan her future, knowing that she would be surrounded by memories of the cousin who’d been such a happy part of her past.
The baby in Casey’s lap made a rather surprised sound and opened his eyes. He looked up to see who was holding him, then broke into a toothless grin.
“Well,” Casey said, grinning back, “you wake up happy, don’t you, tiger?”
Little Micah hooted as if in agreement.
Casey was still smiling when he glanced up at Natalie. “I’ve always had that effect on kids. They start laughing as soon as they see my face.”
“You’re very good with him,” she repeated, unable to think of anything else to say.
Casey gave the babbling baby a couple of bounces, eliciting a shrill giggle. And then he glanced at her and startled her by asking, “You want to hold him?”
She quickly held up her hands in a backing-away gesture. “No, thank you. He looks quite happy where he is.”
