Isabeau said, “Trystan said to let you know they’re having a meeting downstairs.”
Royce closed his laptop. “Who is meeting?”
“Most of the Steeles and Mikkelsons, other than the honeymooners.”
His shoulders heaved. “On my way.” He skimmed a kiss along Naomi’s forehead. “Take care of yourself.” He opened the balcony door for the dogs to slip outside, then strode toward the small foyer.
Isabeau waited until Royce entered the elevator, doors closing him from view. She turned to Naomi. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine. Royce has kept me well stocked with healthy snacks and fruit water. Would you like something?” She gestured to the coffee table that resembled a buffet with a veggie tray, pitcher of water and glasses. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you.” Isabeau poured a glass of sparkling fruit water for herself and sat in a recliner. “Are you okay? I don’t mean to pry, you just have a worried expression on your face.”
Naomi bit her bottom lip, releasing it slowly before blurting out, “I didn’t want to upset Royce any more than he already is. But this experience has called back some upsetting times.” She blinked back tears. “I’m a twin and my sister died in a plane crash when we were barely entering our teen years. This bed rest situation has made me think about her, like, all the time. If I sleep, I dream about her—Brea.”
Isabeau didn’t have siblings, but she’d loved her mother. Her mom—Loretta—had often worked two jobs, so time together was all the more precious. Sometimes her mother would even wake her up when she finished the late shift so they could talk. Loretta had never tired of telling bedtime stories, some of them fairy tales and some of them real-life histories. Such as the story of a famous Queen Isabeau, a strong woman with an elegant name.
Even now, there were times Isabeau dreamed her mother stood at the foot of her bed. Waking up to find her gone was devastating. Every time.
“I’m sorry.” She touched Naomi’s arm, squeezing lightly. “That must be difficult for you having all those feelings churning.”
“It is.” She rubbed her stomach absently. “She was taken from us so tragically.”
Isabeau resisted the urge to touch her own stomach. Her period was a day late, which wasn’t unusual, but still... She forced her attention back to the conversation. “Accidents can leave us with so little closure.”
Her mother’s death of COPD had given them time for farewells, but when her father died in a motorcycle wreck five years ago, there’d been no chance to figure out if the relationship could be repaired.
Naomi glanced out the window, lips pursed as she seemed to grow thoughtful. “At the time, there were rumors that it wasn’t an accident at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“The police could never prove anything, but there were unanswered questions and this pervasive sense that someone in the Mikkelson family had something to do with the accident.”
Horrified and more than a little defensive on Trystan’s behalf, Isabeau sat up straighter. “Oh my God, that’s...unthinkable.”
“Our families already disliked each other and some felt there wasn’t room for both businesses in the industry.”
“But to cause a plane crash?” She couldn’t fathom such a thing.
“To keep from going insane with grief, I had to accept that I’ll never know the truth.” Yet, the pain of that decision still showed in her brown eyes. “And if someone tied to the Mikkelson business did it, they couldn’t have meant for the outcome to be that horrific—maybe they intended a runway incident, fear, distraction in the family. I know, it sounds crazy but that was such a chaotic time.”
“I can’t envision your father letting go of the investigation.” Jack Steele was a formidable force, even now recovering from the horseback-riding accident that had broken his spine.
The fact that he wasn’t paralyzed? A miracle.
“Dad was devastated over Brea and my mother both dying. We hadn’t realized how much he depended on Mom. Without her, he was just...lost. And then I got cancer and he stopped having anything to do with the business for over a year.”
Isabeau thought of her own family, of her mother’s grief over being abandoned. Over her struggles to build a life for them. Isabeau thought of her own possible pregnancy. Could she do this alone? Was she being hardheaded and impractical in keeping boundaries up between her and Trystan?
“How did you all pull through?”
“Uncle Conrad stepped in. He has his own business interests and this isn’t his passion, but he’s savvy and he kept things on track. We owe him so much.”
“He isn’t able to help now?”
“His own corporate interests have grown too large, and we’re not children anymore. He says it’s on us and he’s right.”
Isabeau couldn’t help but note, “For a large family who says they want to keep the family business afloat, everyone sure is preoccupied.”
“You have Trystan, who’s more capable than he realizes, and there’s my brother Marshall if you get desperate.”
“What a ringing endorsement.” They laughed together, a much-needed tension reliever. “And they’re both so into the social scene. Not.”
“Ironic. I get it. The only person more reserved than Trystan is Royce—and okay, maybe my brother Marshall, too, and he’s been sent to a conference anyway—under duress. But at least he agreed to go. Family is everything to all of us—Steeles and Mikkelsons. It’s what binds us. So much so that Trystan is willing to step way outside his comfort zone.”
“So much so, Jeannie and Charles Mikkelson adopted their nephew.” The story touched her heart.
“And my brother adopted Glenna’s daughter, who isn’t even her biological child,” Naomi added.
“You are all lucky. You all have people to count on, no matter what.”
As Isabeau spoke those words, she realized how applicable they were to her too. While she hadn’t had the luxuries of this lifestyle, she had been fortunate too. From her mother to the older woman who had taught her how to crochet, to Paige...and even to Trystan.
The last realization stunned her.
She wondered how she’d allowed herself to become so isolated and independent since the stalker incident when actually she craved more connections. More family like these people had.
Perhaps a couple of weeks ago, Isabeau would have continued keeping him at a distance. But deep in her gut, she felt courageous.
She wanted to let her feelings carry her forward.
* * *
After a relatively successful meeting, and while the others had gone salmon fishing, Trystan found himself again craving the more familiar scents of horse musk, hay and leather.
The two former rival families turned business associates had meshed together better than he’d anticipated. Nothing like a string of crises to motivate teamwork and camaraderie.
Try as he might, the boardroom scene—with all its posturing—was never his thing.
But as much as he wanted to help his family, he was finding himself wanting to please Isabeau, as well. Still, before he spoke with her about the results of the meeting, he needed to ride off the tension.
And yes, give himself some distance from the attraction to Isabeau that was so strong he was beginning to lose objectivity.
Luckily, horses grazed just outside and he nodded his thanks to Royce before rushing to the barn, eager to exchange the wooden table and its complications for a pair of cross ties and Abacus, the spunky bay quarter horse.
He made short work of getting to the barn, clipping the leather lead line to the designer halter. Abacus’s ears perked up as Trystan brought him to the cross ties. The horse stuck his tongue out in a lazy yawn.
After securing the bay, Trystan retrieved a tack box full of supplies. Picking up a currycomb, he allowed Abacus to smell it.
The horse’s whiskers tickled the palm of his hand. Once Abacus adjusted to the scent, Trystan placed a steady hand on the animal’s neck, stroking the silky bay. With his other hand, he moved the currycomb in small, concentric circles, freeing some of the dirt and loosening Abacus’s muscles. While he knew the stable hand had probably already done this, he felt peace of mind taking care of the horse himself.
From a distance, the now-familiar jingle of a dog’s collar caught his attention. Looking over the bay’s withers, he saw Paige keeping pace with Isabeau. His heart pounded just a little faster as he took in the red hair piled in a high ponytail on her head, the tight fit of her jeans and shirt.
Isabeau allowed Abacus to sniff her hand, stroking the other side of his neck. The horse leaned into the rub, clearly enjoying the extra affection. “Are you going riding again?”
“I’m just checking to make sure they were brushed and settled properly.” He tipped his Stetson down, shaking his head. Trystan finished currycombing and picked up a hard, stiff brush.
“More decompressing after the family meeting?”
“Perceptive and pretty.” He smiled over his shoulder, sending the tufts of loose hair and dirt off the bay’s hindquarters. The excess hair and dirt pooled on the ground. “How’s Naomi?”
“Settling in after her visit to the emergency room. It’s reassuring they didn’t hospitalize her, but she has gestational diabetes and elevated blood pressure. She’s on bed rest.”
“Gestational diabetes? How is that different from your kind of diabetes?” Placing the hard brush back in the tack box, he picked up a red hoof pick.
He’d needed their earlier ride to escape the pounding heat. He didn’t want Isabeau to think he lost control at the drop of a hat after the way he’d punched that guy. But too many more tempting touches with this woman were going to drive him crazy.
Making his way back to the bay, he ran his hand down the front right leg, touching the soft spot above the hoof. In a snap, Abacus responded, picking up his foot. With practiced ease, Trystan removed the dirt the horse had acquired from pacing in the stall.
“Yes, it’s different. I had juvenile onset. It’s a lifelong condition. Naomi’s was brought on by pregnancy and should resolve after the babies are born. She just needs to take care of herself.”
“And you’re taking care of yourself...just in case?” He eased the horse’s foot down to the ground again. A handful of flies buzzed around. Abacus swished his dark tail, shooing them away. The last flick of the tail smacked Trystan’s shoulder as he moved to the right rear leg.
“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation. “How did things go?”
He sighed, pleased with the cleanliness of the back hoof. “We’re calling it a controlled disaster. No one was hurt, and nothing toxic happened to the land. So that’s a win. But our major competitor is running with the story to push our stock value down.”
“That’s unfortunate, but not unrecoverable,” she said as he moved quickly to the other two hooves, removing the dirt as she spoke. “You have some major positive events coming up with the fund-raiser and Jack and Jeannie’s wedding. Those will generate great airtime.”
Setting aside the hoof pick, he dramatically gestured to his neck, faux gagging. “I can already feel the tuxedo bow tie choking me.”
A sparkling laugh fell from her lips as she shook her head from side to side.
Damn.
The way the sun caught the bronzed hues in her hair made her seem like a mystical princess. She was so damn beautiful, generous.
As if she could hear his thoughts, a shy smile erupted as their eyes locked. Everything about her called to him. Closing the distance, the memory of how worried he’d been at the pipeline flooded him.
Trystan pushed those racing worries away, choosing instead to focus on the impossible blue of her eyes. Those lips parting slightly as he cupped her head...
And surrendered to the need to kiss her.
Nine
Isabeau couldn’t deny Trystan’s kiss moved her, always, and in ways no one else’s kisses had before. Their connection was special, unique. She’d decided to take a risk, and here she was, forging ahead.
He backed her against the stall, the planked wall a welcome brace to keep her wobbly knees from giving out from under her. The weight of his body against hers anchored her, the heat of him warmed her inside and out. The scent of his aftershave mingled with the earthy musk of hay and animals around them. Combing her fingers through his thick hair, she wanted more of him. All of him. She couldn’t hold out against his appeal much longer.
All the reasons they should stay apart felt elusive at the moment, only whispery thoughts about the way they grew up, of her need for self-reliance after an unhealthy relationship. Except nothing seemed to matter except the rightness of his arms around her. His mouth on hers.
A loud thud sounded through the barn, breaking apart their kiss, causing Isabeau to remember herself. Reverberations skittered in the air, and Trystan’s protective arms seemed to shield her from the yet to be determined noise.
His gaze, which had been scanning sharply, softened as they realized the culprit. Jupiter—one of the draft horses—knocked into his stall’s gate. An accompanying whinny following.
From across the way, his brother Mars peaked his head from the stall, neck stretching long as he bleated a response.
Isabeau’s nervous heart stopped galloping, calmed as she took in the scene. Relieved, she glanced at Trystan, their easy laughs tangling as they relaxed, looking at each other.
Trystan pulled her close, a deep sigh forcing the breath from his lungs, causing his chest to dip in as she rested against him. He stroked her hair, his other hand low on her waist. “Why is it we never seem to find an extended private moment?”
“I’m enjoying myself here.” She didn’t want to go back. Back to the real world with worries about if she’d done her job well enough.
“I agree, but I would like the time to linger over you and this place is too public. Anyone could burst in. While the media has us partnered up, I do not want risqué photos of you out there. I would never expose you to that.”
His words warmed her, especially after having been with a man who was so untrustworthy. “I know. I do trust you to be an honorable man.” And as the words came out of her mouth, she realized they were true. He was different from her father. He would never leave her and a child vulnerable.
Although trustworthiness wasn’t the same as commitment.
“Things are moving fast. I get that, and you have to know that while I respect your wishes, I want more.”
She appreciated his willingness to protect her from the media attention his family garnered, to give her space. Maybe it was time for her to give back, to take a risk.
Before she could second-guess herself, she plunged right in. “Between two brushes with the press, the world already sees us as a couple. Why should we deny the chance to see what’s going on between us? Life could well force our hands soon enough.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’m asking you out on a date.” The moment she said it, she wondered if it sounded silly at this point. They’d gone everywhere together these past few weeks, spent nearly every waking moment together. But still. Was it so wrong to want a romance? A chance to really get to know him beyond their work relationship? The heated evening in the boathouse had happened with such fast intensity, they’d skipped over the milestones that usually came with dating.
“A date?” he echoed, his eyes intrigued, his knee brushing hers as he shifted.
“Just the two of us in a place away from the media, a chance to be together before the fund-raiser and your mother’s wedding.” She watched him process the invitation while her pulse picked up speed.
Anticipating.
His gaze dipped to her mouth. Lingered. “I like the way yo
u think.” His voice did wicked things to her insides. “Did you have somewhere special in mind?”
“Surprise me.” And she trusted that he would.
If only she could trust herself to keep her wits around him.
* * *
Royce wondered how a mansion this large could feel so damn crowded.
Since Naomi was settled with the other women going over plans for the fund-raiser and reviewing details for Jeannie and Jack’s wedding, he felt comfortable being away from her. Worrying about her blood pressure was exhausting.
He plowed through the kitchen, tablet under his arm, Tessie loping alongside. He would hide in the pantry with his work and his dog if he had to. Lord knew, their “cupboard” was as large as his dining room.
Head down, he slammed into—Trystan. “Sorry, man, I didn’t see you.” He gripped Tessie’s collar. “Wait, girl, wait.”
“My bad,” Trystan answered, tucking his cell phone in his pocket. “I was wrapped up in finalizing a date night with Isabeau.”
“A date night? So you two really have something going on, other than work,” Royce said, to make polite conversation, something he was doing more of these days, being a part of Naomi’s world and working for Alaska Oil Barons.
“I hope so.” Trystan rocked back on his boot heels.
“Good luck to you.” And he meant it. Relationships were tough. He had a failed engagement in his past to prove that.
“Thanks, I’m gonna need it. Unlike you, who already has your life all squared away.”
“Uh, yeah.”
Was that how he appeared? Didn’t feel that way. Hopefully, things would get back on track with him and Naomi once they could return to their cabin.
The sound of her laughter drifting down the hall halted that thought short, reminding him how happy she was here, with her family. Here, in the middle of a crowd.
Trystan clamped him on the shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“Sure, I just need to take my dog for a walk.”
“With your tablet?”
Royce looked down. “Right, I was thinking Tessie and I could hang out on the dock, where it’s quiet.”
The Love Child Page 11
