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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.
