Claremont was the next town over. Bigger. More cosmopolitan. Lots of lovely restaurants. “It won’t change anything,” she said.
He curled an arm around her waist and dragged her closer for one hard kiss. “Wear something nice,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
* * *
The weather had finally moderated. The day was sunny with a hint of spring warmth. The hours crawled by, but at last Cate was free to put the closed placard in the front window and lock the doors.
Upstairs, she dithered over what to wear. Brody had taken her to eat in Claremont several times back in the fall. If he chose their favorite spot again, she would need to dress for the ambiance.
The only nice outfit she owned—that still fit—was a red jersey tank dress that left her shoulders bare. Her newly burgeoning breasts swelled against the scooped neckline. Pairing the sexy number with a sober black wool shawl would keep her warm and at the same time lend respectability to the above-the-knee frock. She didn’t want to give Brody any ideas.
The larger-than-life Scotsman was punctual. It was one of the many things she liked about him. That and the way he charmed everyone they met, from strangers on the street to clerks and servers and anyone else who crossed his path. His thick, whiskey-colored hair, broad-shouldered masculinity and bone-melting accent were a trifecta that won over even the most curmudgeonly of acquaintances.
As he helped her into the car with a solicitous touch, she told herself she wouldn’t be dazzled by something as shallow as sex appeal. So the man had a great smile and smelled like a crisp alpine forest. That wasn’t enough. She was going to be a mother. She had mature decisions to make. Sex would only cloud the process.
Brody, perhaps correctly reading her reluctance, was on his best behavior. During the twenty-mile drive, they discussed movies and books and Isobel’s determination to remain in her home.
Cate smiled. “It’s hard for me to believe that one tiny old lady can stand up to a duo of strapping Scotsmen.”
“We can’t exactly tote her over our shoulder and kidnap her onto a plane. Granny has made up her mind. It complicates things for the family down the road, but we love her. Our father was naive to believe Duncan and I could sway her. But then again, none of us realized how much she loves it here in North Carolina. With Grandda gone, I thought Candlewick would hold too many painful memories.”
“It’s the memories that keep her going, I think.”
“Seems so.”
When they arrived at the restaurant, serious conversation was tabled for the moment. The tuxedo-clad host actually remembered them. He bent over Cate’s hand with a theatrical French flair. “We are honored to have such a beautiful woman grace our humble restaurant.”
The humble restaurant had three Michelin stars and an extensive wine cellar, so Cate took his effusive greeting with a grain of salt. “It’s good to be back,” she said.
Brody’s lips twitched, but she gave him points for not rolling his eyes. The host seated them at a prime table in the corner near a large window that looked out over a scenic pond. Gardens, still clad in drab winter colors, nevertheless beckoned with tiny white lights strung in the branches of budding trees.
The last time she and Brody had patronized this particular establishment, they took a walk after dinner. He had pulled her into the shadows and kissed her desperately. They’d been so hungry for each other that the trip back to Candlewick had seemed endless.
The memory brought no pleasure. Cate had been giddy with infatuation back then. But soon after, Brody disappeared from her life.
Her dinner companion picked up on her wistful mood. After they ordered he leaned back in his chair and stared at her. “What’s wrong? I thought this place was a favorite of yours.”
She shrugged. “It was. It is. If I’m not mistaken, though, this is where you and I spent the evening before we went back to my place and...well, you know. Made a baby.”
His face changed. “Ah, hell, lass. I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Clearly, Brody didn’t remember every moment of their affair.
The entrées arrived, derailing the awkward pause. Cate’s stomach cooperated long enough for her to eat grilled salmon and sautéed squash. Brody’s smile had gotten lost somewhere along the way. He consumed most of a strip steak and a baked potato, but his jaw was firm and his gaze hooded.
At last, the meal was done. Cate put down her fork and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. The restaurant wasn’t cold, but she needed something to hold on to. She inhaled sharply. “Here’s the thing, Brody. When and if I ever get married, I want it to be to a man who loves me and wants to be with me always. You’re not that guy.”
He couldn’t argue the point. Not when he had so very carefully told her he wasn’t interested in picking up where they left off.
“Circumstances have changed.” He spoke carefully as if he was looking for exactly the right words to convince her.
“It doesn’t matter. You haven’t changed. I deserve better than a reluctant husband and father.”
He winced. “I said a lot of things recently. Maybe I was a fool.” He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. His thumb stroked the pulse at the back of her wrist. “We could make it work, lass. For the baby.”
Cate shivered inwardly. She could fall in love with Brody Stewart so easily. When he went back home last October, her world had gone flat for a while. The autumn leaves had seemed duller, the blue skies not as vibrant. Even the crisp mornings and warm afternoons—normally her favorite season of the year—had failed to lift her spirits.
Brody had crashed into her humdrum existence with the force and heat of a meteorite. She could no more have resisted his brash Scottish charm than she could have stopped the sun from coming up. He had wanted her and she had wanted him. They had wallowed in their mutual, intense attraction.
When he left, the physical realities of a harsher-than-normal North Carolina mountain winter had echoed the aching loss in her soul.
Having Brody, even briefly, and then losing him had hurt. A lot. Why would she ever let herself be so vulnerable again?
She pulled her hand away. Touching him or vice versa was dangerous. “We created a baby in a moment of physical need. It happened. I don’t blame you. You’re a nice man. You’re honest. You care about your grandmother. If I thought you had any long-term interest in this child, I would make sure you could see him or her now and again. But be honest, Brody. You don’t want to take on that kind of emotional responsibility for the rest of your life...do you?”
“I haven’t had much time to think about it.”
It wasn’t an answer. Not really.
Perhaps she owed him more of her life than she had shared up until now. Maybe it would help him understand. “I know what it’s like to be a child who’s not wanted.”
His face reflected shock. “You?”
“Yes. I wasn’t an orphan. So you don’t have to feel sorry for me. That’s not the point of this story. My parents were both college professors. Sociologists. They chose not to have children because they wanted to be free to travel the world and research indigenous populations in remote places. They knew it wouldn’t be fair to leave a child behind for someone else to raise.”
“So what happened?”
“When my mother was forty-nine years old and approaching menopause, she found out she was pregnant. Needless to say, it was a shock. She and my father were good, decent people. They didn’t give me up for adoption. Instead, they put an end to their travels and settled into teaching year-round.”
“But they resented you...”
His attempt to understand was almost comical. “Nothing so dramatic. They did everything parents are supposed to do. There were nannies, of course, when I was an infant and toddler, but good ones. When I was old enough for kindergarten, my mother and father
began attending parent/teacher conferences and school programs.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They were going through the motions. One reason they never wanted children was because they weren’t ‘kid’ people, and they knew that about themselves. Instead of warmth and hugs and genuine parent/child bonding, it was more like playacting. They tried their best to perform the assigned roles, I really believe that, but it was a hollow effort.”
“How old were you when you realized?”
An insightful question. Brody was sharp and intuitive.
“Seven, I think. That would have been the spring of first grade. My class put on a play. We had a dress rehearsal one Saturday morning, because we were to perform for the whole school the following Monday. On the day of practice, there were parents everywhere...laughing, talking, taking photographs. My best friend’s mother brought cupcakes for everyone. Another kid’s father videotaped the practice.”
“And your parents?”
“They sat on folding chairs in a back corner of the auditorium. Never spoke to anyone. Never involved themselves in the chaos. I know I was very small, and it’s possible I’ve embellished the details, but what stands out in my memory is the look of discomfort on their faces. Maybe that was the first time they realized they had committed themselves to more than a decade of this kind of thing.”
“I’m sorry, Cate.” Brody’s gaze was troubled.
“Don’t be. Over the years I came to understand that I was luckier than some. I had every material advantage and a safe place to sleep at night.”
“Children need love.”
“Yes, they do. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. If babies aren’t your thing, it would be best for all of us if we come to terms with that now.”
Brody ignored her pointed advice. He drummed his fingers on the linen tablecloth. “What about the rest of your life?”
“I did well in school. Didn’t make waves. When I went off to college, I think it was a relief for all three of us. My parents were finally free to live life as they pleased, and I was ready to be an adult.”
“Granny told me your parents died before you came to Candlewick...is that right?”
“Yes. My father was diagnosed with lung cancer six years ago. One afternoon when my mother was driving him home from a doctor’s appointment, a drunk driver ran a red light. They were killed instantly.”
“Damn, Cate. I’m so sorry.”
Her throat tightened to a painful degree. “Thank you. But it was a very long time ago. I grieved and moved on.”
Brody frowned. “You and I could provide emotional security for this baby. I have family to share and to spare. It makes perfect sense for you to marry me.”
“Stop pushing me,” she said. “You think you can make everything work out simply by willing it to be the way you want it, but life is not that easy. Emotions are messy and complicated. Babies even more so...”
Seven
Brody lifted a hand to summon the waiter. He wanted to pay the check and get out of this place. Hearing Cate’s story haunted him. His own family saga wasn’t much better. But at least his parents had been physically affectionate. Even if they hadn’t been able to stay married to each other, neither of their sons had ever doubted they were loved.
On the steps of the restaurant, he put a hand beneath Cate’s elbow. “Do you feel like walking? It’s a beautiful night.”
Beneath his fingertips, he felt her stiffen. But a moment later she murmured an affirmative. As they descended the steps, Cate’s elegant shawl caught on a nail and slipped out of her grasp. Before he could retrieve it, another guest picked it up and returned it.
“Thanks,” Brody said. When he swiveled back to Cate, his eyes widened. She had kept a death grip on her simple wrap the entire evening. This was the first time he had seen her without the shawl. He remembered the red dress from before. What he didn’t recall were the voluptuous curves plumped up on display above the neckline. “Holy hell.”
She crossed her arms defensively. “Yes,” she said wryly. “I’ve got boobs now. Put your eyes back in your head.”
He swallowed and carefully tucked the soft wrap around her shoulders. “You had beautiful breasts before, lass. Now there’s simply more of you to admire.”
Cate laughed. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound. Things were so serious between them now. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “Exercise is good for pregnant women.”
“How would you know?”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and steered her down the path of small, smooth stones. “I downloaded a pregnancy manual on my iPad. I’ve made it to chapter three so far.”
Cate stopped dead in the middle of the walkway and stared up at him. “You can’t be serious.”
Her incredulity stung. “This is important to me, Catie girl. It might not be what I wanted, but it’s what I’ve got...what we’ve got. It pays to be prepared. I have a responsibility to you.” He brushed a gentle fingertip over the wound on her head. “You’ve already passed out once,” he muttered. “We can’t let that happen again.” She had covered the abrasion with makeup, but he could still see the swelling.
“I’ll admit the knot does ache, but pain reliever helped, so it’s nothing to worry about. Last night was stressful. I’m fine now. Honestly.”
“We’ll see.”
Apparently, that annoying phrase translated across the globe. “Don’t try to handle me, Mr. Stewart. I’m not one of your boats.”
He chuckled, linking his hand with hers and squeezing her fingers. They strolled along in harmony. “Do you even like the water, Cate?”
“I don’t dislike it,” she said.
“I’d enjoy taking you sailing, lass. I have a honey of a boat called the Mary Guinn. She’s sleek and fast and responds to my hand on the wheel like a cloud dancing across the sky. There’s nothing like being out on the loch with the breeze whipping the water into a frenzy and the sun on your face. It’s poetry, lass. Pure poetry.”
“So is this Mary person a former lover?”
“No. But she was my first teenage crush. Two years older than me and sweet as a spoonful of honey. I was madly in love with her for an entire spring.”
“She must have been really something to inspire you to name a boat after her.”
He stopped and pulled her to face him, holding her narrow shoulders between his two hands. “Are ye jealous, Cate?”
Her chin lifted. “Of course not. Don’t be absurd.”
He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Not tonight. Not with so much at stake. But the way her wary green eyes gazed up at him lit a fire in his belly. “God, I’ve missed you.”
He slid his hands beneath her hair and cupped her head, diving in deep for the first kiss, then lingering and savoring the second. He’d half expected her to slap his face and run away. Instead, she leaned into him and curled her arms around his neck.
“I missed you, too, Brody.”
This time when the shawl fell, neither of them cared. His hands shook. How had he made himself believe he could stay away from this woman? Even with an ocean between them he had remembered the way her body fit his so perfectly. Was that a happy coincidence or a portent of something greater?
Tongue tangling with hers, he breathed raggedly. In his arms, she felt like home. “Do ye believe in fate, Catie girl? The Scots are a superstitious people. We come from a long line of seers and prophets. Sometimes life steers us in ways we’re meant to go.”
She pulled back for a moment, her lips swollen from his kisses, her cheeks flushed. The moonlight painted her in silver. “Don’t make something out of nothing, Brody. Sex is sex. It doesn’t mean we’re the folk heroes of a Celtic legend. I like sleeping with you. You knocked me up. End of story.”
He put a hand over her mouth. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not meant to be f
lippant.”
She nipped his fingers with sharp teeth. “For a man who said ‘no more sex’ in no uncertain terms, you’re creating a very compromising situation.”
Cate was right. They had wandered about as far away from the restaurant as it was possible to go. No one could see them here in the copse of trees unless they stumbled upon them. And that was unlikely. Other diners were inside keeping warm.
He ran his hands up and down her arms. “I want ye badly, lass. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Did you sleep with other women when you went home?”
The question knocked the wind out of him.
Cate clapped a hand over her mouth, her expression aghast. “Forget I said that, Brody. It’s none of my business.”
He was stunned. Not by her question, but by his own calculations. He’d told himself the boat business had kept him too busy over the winter to get laid. What a pile of horseshit. Apparently, he’d not actually been tempted by any of the women who crossed his path. None of them had been Cate.
“The answer is no,” he said bluntly.
She went still. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Really.”
“Then why the big speech last week?”
“Maybe I’m a damned fool. Come here, little Cate. Let me kiss you again.”
She put a hand in the center of his chest, holding him momentarily at bay. “I’m five foot ten. Not little at all. And I won’t let you coerce me with sex. This baby is none of your business.”
“I’ll be honest, woman. Right now I’ve no’ got a thought for anything but touching you.” He shimmied her skirt up to her hips. “Damn, your skin is soft.” He was losing control. He recognized his fraying resolve. Tonight was supposed to be about solving the mess he had made. Now he was perilously close to compounding his transgressions.
“Brody...” She whispered his name with such yearning the hair on his nape stood up.
His next discovery fried his reasoning. “Lord, God, woman. Are you no’ wearing any underwear?” She had gooseflesh all over, so he shrugged out of his suit jacket and tucked it around her.
His Heir, Her Secret (Highland Heroes Book 1) Page 6
