Paige didn't doubt that the aunts had found this man difficult to deal with. His very manner was intimidating.
"Little by little, they began to ignore my advice. Biz would pull out large amounts of money and invest it, and to make a long story short, her judgment was poor. She lost huge amounts, and your aunts were forced to live off the principal of their fortune."
"Surely you tried to stop her when she began to lose money?" Paige found it hard to believe that what she had thought was a huge family fortune had been so depleted.
"Your aunts are grown women. They wouldn't listen to me. By and by, with inflation and the cost of living, it was almost all gone. There was barely anything left. Your Aunt Biz blamed me, said she couldn't work with me. I felt terrible about it, but what could I do?" Jacob Hightower regarded her gloomily. "Then Chad Smith came along. I don't mind telling you that he's the best thing that could have happened to your aunts."
Paige looked from Chad to Jacob Hightower. "But why?"
"Chad is an astute businessman, Ms. Brownell. He manages his own money, knows when to take risks and when not to take them. He and your aunts began discussing finances, and they recognized his expertise. They commenced following his advice. Before long, they wanted him to manage everything. They're not as young as they used to be and wanted to be free of the responsibility. They trust him completely."
Chad turned to Paige. "I didn't want to do it, Paige. But when I realized how much financial difficulty they were in, I had to. I couldn't let them go on as they were. They had almost hit rock bottom. So I agreed to manage their money for them."
"It's a good thing he did, too," said Jacob Hightower. "In fact, Chad might not want me to tell you this part of it, but he's been depositing money in their account, and they know nothing of it. If it weren't for him, they might have lost everything—St. Albans, the Manse, all of it."
Paige felt numb. "I had no idea things were so bad," she said slowly.
"Your aunts are proud ladies," Chad said quietly. "They don't go around complaining. Fortunately, they're doing very well now. And will continue to do well."
"That's only because of Chad," said Jacob Hightower. "Around the bank we have a saying. You remember the fable about King Midas—everything he touched turned to gold? Well, we say that Chad Smith has the touch of gold. He has almost a sixth sense about investments. Maybe it's his degree in finance from Harvard, or maybe he was born with it, but one thing is certain. Your aunts will never have to worry about money as long as he's in charge."
"You have a degree from Harvard?" Paige said, turning to Chad.
"I hadn't gotten around to mentioning it yet, but yes. Harvard is a family tradition."
Paige swallowed and blinked. "Oh. That's impressive."
"Yeah, maybe. Except those Boston winters were really cold." He rose from his seat. "Thank you, Jacob," he said. And to Paige, who had thought that nothing else could surprise her, "Paige? Shall we go?"
She didn't speak, just walked with him out of the office, past Glynis, outside to the car. Richards headed the car back toward St. Simons.
"So you see, my dear, I'm not the bad guy you thought I was," Chad said lightly.
"I hardly know what to say," Paige said faintly. "It's true, all of it, it must be, but it's so hard to fathom." They rode in silence while her thoughts veered to Chad's subscription to the Wall Street Journal, which now made perfectly good sense. That day when they'd gone riding also came to mind.
"The horses," she said. "They're your horses, aren't they? You don't exercise them for the stable."
Chad laughed. "I wondered when you'd figure that out. They're my horses, all right. Thoroughbreds. I board them there."
"I suspected that you bought them with money that you'd bled from my aunts. I really had a terrible opinion of you."
"I know," said Chad, sounding regretful. "I realize that this has been a day of shocks," he added soothingly, putting his arm around her and pulling her close on the wide seat. "We're going back to St. Albans now, and we're going to have a nice quiet evening, just the two of us, alone. After all, Aunt Sophie and Aunt Biz will be back soon."
"I suppose you don't want me to tell them that you've been giving them money all along," said Paige.
"It wouldn't do a bit of good and would only get them upset. Anyway, I didn't do it as much for them as I did for myself. It made me happy to do something nice for them, as kind as they've been to me."
"Touch of gold," she murmured, nestling close to him. "Heart of gold, too." Chad kissed her gently on the forehead.
Back at St. Albans, they worked companionably side by side in the kitchen of the Manse to prepare dinner together. Everything seemed as it was during their idyllic interlude in the Sea House. Later, after eating, they sat in the dim twilight on the veranda outside the study, their chairs drawn close, their hands touching.
"You know," said Chad, "for a while I doubted that we'd ever get together. You seemed to dislike me so much right from the first."
"True," admitted Paige. "I was concerned about my aunts. Wouldn't you have been, if you'd been in my place?"
Chad considered this. "Perhaps. All I know is that I was taken with you from the moment I saw you standing on the dock at St. Simons with the wind whipping your hair about your face."
"And you looking so devil-may-care and radiating so many pheromones that I couldn't think straight. I knew you were attracted to me. But later you turned so cold, as though you didn't like me any more."
"It was because I wanted you so desperately, and you put me off with your high-minded talk about 'communion of the spirit,' whatever that was. It seemed like an impossibly unattainable achievement, that whole communion thing. But by that time I knew I was falling in love with you."
"Falling in love with me? Even then?"
"Even then. And then Stephen McCall dropped out of the sky, and for an awful time I thought you were going to fly away with him. That's when I began to pursue you in earnest. And then I found what you were looking for, too. Communion of the spirit is real. It exists. You showed me that." He smiled at her contentedly.
When it had grown dark and the blue velvet sky had cupped itself over them, swinging the stars so close that they could have reached up and touched one, Chad said, "Let's walk down to the dock and watch the moon rising over the marsh."
Paige agreed, and arm in arm they walked down the path, through the shadows of the trees, and stood on the dock gazing across the expanse of marsh grass at the golden moon lying low in the sky. Stars shone down from above and were reflected in the water, and when Paige looked up at Chad, she saw more stars glowing deep in his golden eyes.
He drew her close until she felt his heart beating close to hers. She wrapped her arms around him, loving him, trusting him, wanting him. She was overcome by the intensity of her feelings. W. Chadbourne Smith III, she thought to herself. A few short days ago, she never would have believed it.
Chad's voice sounded heavy with emotion. "Don't you think you've had long enough to think it over?" he said.
She pulled slightly apart. "Think what over?"
"Marrying me. I believe I mentioned it earlier today."
"I remember something about it. You sandwiched it neatly between the Atlantic Ocean, which you don't own, and all those bedrooms, which you do."
"Well, what's the answer? You can't expect me to wait forever, you know."
"Forever," she said dreamily, kissing the little cleft in the middle of his chin. "That's a long time."
"Endless," he agreed, kissing the tip of her nose.
"But not nearly long enough for us."
"Still, it's a start," he said, pressing his lips against her eyelids, one by one.
"A very good start indeed," she murmured before pulling his head down until his lips covered hers. The stars above and below them wrapped them in their luminous glow, and in that moment, the beginning of their forever, the whole world seemed bright and golden and full of love.
Page for
ward for the final book in the
Beach Bachelors Boxset
SANDS OF GOLD
Sands of Gold
Beach Bachelors
Book Three
by
Pamela Browning
Award-winning Author
Dedication
This book was always gratefully dedicated to Jerry, and it still is. Without his support and encouragement, my delightful writing career wouldn't have been possible.
Chapter 1
The wind was a maelstrom gone wild, driving the breakers across the sand in savage waves. The sky above seethed with slate-gray clouds churning out to sea. Down the beach, palm fronds twisted to and fro in tortured gyrations.
Cara paused at the edge of the surf, white foam frothing at her ankles. It wasn't a good day for the beach, but if she were to swim in the ocean at all on this trip, it would have to be now. Tomorrow she'd board the Palm Beach-Chicago plane, this time alone—but she didn't want to think about that. All she wanted was the catharsis of the sea, something to wash away the sadness of the past few days.
Someone else had braved the ocean on this day. A lone surfer floated far out, waiting for a wave. As she watched, a wall of water built behind him. The surfer rose fluidly to his feet, watching over his shoulder as the curve of the wave lifted and bore his board toward shore. Cara envied his expertise and mastery of the board on this day when no other surfers had even ventured out.
Well, more power to him. As for her, it was impossible to dive into the battering waves. Still, past the trough where the waves broke, the water smoothed periodically into a sheet of calm where she might be able to paddle a few strokes before being driven shoreward by the next breaker. Cara hugged herself against the chill wind and stepped into the sea, barely keeping her balance as the crest of the first wave slapped against her chest.
Before she knew what was happening, a tremendous force seized her and pulled her under. Wild water boiled above her, driving her down until her chin grated on sand. She struggled against tremendous pressure and with great effort broke the surface, gasping for air.
When the next wave hit, it flung her toward the beach before twisting inward upon itself and whipping her underwater again. This time Cara's lungs almost burst before she surfaced. To her dismay she realized that she was much farther from the beach than before.
Riptide! The treacherous current flowing seaward beneath the breaking surf! Cara, born and raised in the landlocked Midwest, had heard the term but had never been confronted with the reality. She reminded herself not to panic, tried to remember what to do. Before she could save herself, she was once more swept out to sea.
When her hands and feet felt numb and she was beginning to think all she wanted to do was to slide beneath the soft water forever, she heard a faint call.
"Hang on!" said the voice. On the crest of the next wave she blinked the stinging salt water out of her eyes and strained to see. A tiny dinghy bobbed toward her in the surf, and for the first time she felt hope.
Strong hands reached for her, pulled her into the boat. Cara coughed up a torrent of water as her rescuer turned the boat toward shore. The vessel rocked and pitched so violently that she thought they'd both be thrown out.
"Are you okay?"
Her throat felt so raw that she couldn't force words out, so she only nodded. From his abbreviated wet suit, she recognized the man as the surfer she'd watched earlier, and he was regarding her with alarm as he fought to control the boat in the surf. She felt another wave of nausea and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew she was being carried across the beach.
Her rescuer kicked open the door of a nearby beach cabana, dumped her unceremoniously on a flowered chintz chaise longue, and cocked a sardonic eyebrow.
"Next time you decide to go for a swim on the coldest, windiest day of the season, be sure to dress more warmly." He eyed her brief bikini. "Come to think of it, you might wear a life jacket, too."
It was hardly the kind of treatment she expected upon being dragged drowning from the ocean, but she was too exhausted to reply. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Presently she felt a stinging sensation. She opened her eyes in alarm when the man, whoever he was, dabbed her grazed chin with antiseptic.
"So it won't get infected," he explained curtly.
He brought her a dry quilt and she snuggled gratefully into it, regarding him through lowered lashes as he threw himself onto a chair across from her.
He'd shed the wet suit. He was a tall man, bronzed from the sun. His eyes blazed out of his tan, a brilliant azure—no, aquamarine—and a sharp nose jutted over a determined chin. Unfortunately, he seemed to have taken a dislike to her, for he sat glowering at her from beneath a shock of sun-bleached hair. Although there was an air of good breeding about him, he impressed her as a little scruffy around the edges. And rakish. Definitely.
"Thank you for saving my life," she said, trying to smile through salt-caked lips. "I shouldn't have tried to swim today. I didn't know about the riptide." She was more than a little embarrassed. She'd been a competitive swimmer in high school, though skills in a swimming pool didn't translate to surviving a riptide, as she'd just now learned.
He scowled. "Why did you go out there on a day like this? Don't you tourists know anything? You're lucky I happened to be catching my last wave of the day and had the dinghy nearby. Otherwise, I'd never have reached you in time."
Cara's temper flared. "Look, I appreciate what you've done, but I don't like being insulted. I know I shouldn't have gone out. Let's leave it at that." She threw off the quilt and started to rise, amazed when her legs crumpled beneath her.
He leaped from his seat to break her fall. "Cut the histrionics, okay? You're not in any shape to go anywhere right now." He eased her back on the chaise. "What's your name, anyway?"
"Cara Demorest," she told him, her voice no more than a whisper.
"I'm Alec Martyn," he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "I live in this cabana. Do you have anyone you can call?"
Try as she might, Cara couldn't keep the tears from coming. "I—I..."
"Please don't start blubbering," Alec said, tossing her a tissue.
Cara wiped the tears from her eyes, but they welled up as fast as she blotted. Finally she gave in to her grief and sobbed as though her heart would break. Alec stood by and watched her, his hands on his hips. When she finally regained control, she raised her eyes to his. He sighed and shook his head.
"Would you mind telling me what this is all about? I mean—"
"I'm sorry my tears annoy you, Mr. Martyn, but the fact is that my father died unexpectedly five days ago, and there isn't anyone else. As soon as I can make my way out of here under my own power, I will." She matched his glare with one of her own, wishing the salt water hadn't made her throat so raw.
Alec's eyes wavered under the strength of her gaze, and she could tell she'd made him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he said finally, his tone subdued. "I couldn't have known."
Cara saw no point in telling him the whole story: how she had come to Palm Beach with her father, a well-known expert in antiques, and how she'd planned to assist him in the inventory and disposal of the contents of a famous Palm Beach estate that was scheduled to be razed to make room for a high-rise oceanfront condominium. They both worked for the same appraisal firm, and even with her degree in art history, her father had taught her a lot over the past couple of years. They'd looked forward to this job.
After her father had died of a heart attack hours after their arrival, Cara had been faced with the ordeal of her dad's final arrangements. He'd always insisted that he didn't want a funeral and had donated his body to a medical school. Cara had honored his wishes, but the lack of ceremony left her without final closure. The last week had been the saddest in her life, and she dreaded packing and returning to the Chicago apartment that the two of them shared.
Alec fell silent, resting his head against the back of the chair where he sat. Cara's emotional o
utburst had left her exhausted, and she must have fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes, the sky outside was no longer gray but darkest blue and filled with stars. Alec was nowhere to be seen, so she lifted herself on her elbows and inspected her surroundings more closely.
The cabana was a small house set far back on the beach and backed up to the ocean drive. Large plate-glass windows afforded a wide-screen view of the ocean. Pecky cypress paneled the ceiling. Along one wall ranged a fully stocked bar, and the wall opposite featured a fireplace faced with coquina rock.
Through an archway she could see what was meant to be an informal dining room, but the table was pushed to one wall and covered with tubes and bottles. Several canvases in various stages of completion stood on easels. A large uncompleted wood carving rested on a worktable. Alec was more than a surfer dude, apparently. A dilettante of the arts? Maybe.
Cara heard a refrigerator opening and closing in the small kitchen, and soon Alec appeared and offered sandwiches.
She'd had no idea she was so hungry. She devoured two sandwiches before she became aware that Alec was studying her. He leaned against the bar across the room, one eyebrow raised in that disapproving way of his, his right leg propped on a convenient bar stool.
"Must you keep staring at me?" she said when she could no longer bear his scrutiny.
"I have a right to see what kind of flotsam I've salvaged, don't I? You do look better than you did, even though your hair could use a shampoo and you're still too pale for my taste."
"Please call a taxi, and I won't inconvenience you further."
"No," he said unexpectedly. "After a near-drowning, you shouldn't be alone. Someone has to keep you under observation. It looks like the task falls to me."
Alec Martyn's attitude left her feeling helpless and resentful. She clenched her fists in anger, but this only made her weakness more apparent. Clearly Alec was right—she was in no condition to leave.
He studied her for a moment. "You weren't trying anything, were you?" He spoke almost too casually.
The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series) Page 33
