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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.
