Leaving Carolina

by Tamara Leigh

  “Because I wouldn’t do that to my uncle.” I grip his knee, only to snatch my hand away. It’s his prosthetic leg. Not that it bothers me. It just seems like a violation, especially as I’m not sure it actually is his knee. Maybe that’s prosthetic too? Afraid to look at him for what may be on his face, I say lamely, “You know I wouldn’t.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” He stares at the road and doesn’t speak again until we’re clear of the Super Wal-Mart. “All right, but he does know, and he’s going to cause problems.” He glances at me. “What else does he know?”

  “Nothing. I—” Oops. “He knows about Antonio and Daisy.”

  He draws a sharp breath. “You don’t know how he found out about them either?”

  Lord, why do I always wait to consult You after the fact? “That blame is mine.”

  He momentarily takes his eyes off the road. “You told him.”

  “Only to use as leverage to prevent him from trying to have Uncle Obe declared mentally incompetent. You know, ‘Back off or he’ll leave it all to his children.’”

  He looks forward.

  “He’s retained an attorney, Axel.”

  “I’m sure he has.”

  Silence, and I wish it were due to the windy road. Finally, Axel looks at me. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “You believe me?”

  He looks back at the road, and that jaw muscle, which seems exclusive to alpha males, tics and tenses. “I’ve learned to forgive, but if you’re making a fool of me…”

  He leaves it at that, but then silence is a language all its own.

  I moisten my lips. “I suggest that we wait and see if Luc takes the threat of disinheritance seriously.”

  “What are the chances of that?”

  “Good. I think.”

  “Let’s pray you’re right.” Axel gives me a smile, albeit forced.

  A few minutes later the estate comes into sight, as does the snazzy sports car parked before the gate.

  I frown. “Who’s that?”

  “We’ll know soon enough.” Axel brakes behind the other car, and it’s apparent the driver has abandoned it.

  “Rental car,” Axel says, taking in the license plate.

  “Where’s the driver?”

  He points to a place beyond the gate. “I would say that’s him.”

  I peer up the driveway. And who should be coming down it but Grant? Oh, Lord.

  23

  Another gate climber,” Axel says. “Someone you know?” What is he doing here? “A… um… client.”

  “One who knows where your uncle lives?” Axel looks sidelong at me. “That sounds like more than a client.”

  And his suspicions are back in full. “Just a client.” I open the door and slide out. As I step between the two vehicles, I hear my name called and look around to see Grant waving as he comes down the driveway.

  The gate opens in response to the code I punch in, and I hurry toward Grant, who is as leanly attractive as ever. Though he has started to bald in a way that makes him appear more mature than his thirty-nine years (a plus in politics), it hasn’t hurt his appeal. But then, he does have soulful eyes, great cheekbones, and a two-phase orthodontic smile.

  “Piper!” Sunglasses obscure his eyes, and he beams as he nears. I slow but he doesn’t, and suddenly his arms surround me (very unclientlike), his face lowers (highly unclientlike), and his mouth comes in for a landing (exceedingly unclientlike).

  I turn aside to break off the kiss. “Grant! What are you—?”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  He never missed me this much before. What is going on? And what must Axel think? And please, Lord, don’t let that undercover reporter be anywhere near.

  Grant starts to lower his head again, but I press a hand to his chest. “You’re making no sense.”

  He removes his sunglasses and hooks them on the neck of his shirt. “Actually, I’m making more sense than I have in weeks.”

  “Not to me.”

  His brow develops a minor furrow, usually reserved to express concern for his constituents. “This doesn’t feel right?”

  I pull back, and he releases me. “What are you doin’ here?”

  He blinks. “Did you just drawl?”

  Oh no.

  “You sounded a bit Southern.”

  “Well, technically, I am.” I wave a dismissing hand. “What happened with the tire tycoon’s daughter?”

  A flick of his eyebrows erases his frown. “We should have dug deeper into Penelope’s past.”

  She has secrets too? Something worse than being a Pickwick? Of course, I never got around to telling him about Lady Godiva.

  “At seventeen, she ran away with her boyfriend and joined a radical cult—the kind that uses firearms and bombs to get their point across. Fortunately, her father tracked her down and had her extricated.”

  My jaw slackens. “Extricated? Sounds dangerous.”

  He holds up a hand. “The press doesn’t know. I uncovered it on my own.”

  Janet Farr/Jane Farredy, you are after the wrong story—thankfully. “How did you uncover it?”

  “She told me. She didn’t want to get any more serious until I knew about her past.”

  “That was honest of her.” Though I had intended to tell him about the last piece of my past when I thought I was still in his future, this young woman has one up on me.

  “It’s too bad,” Grant says almost to himself, and something like distress spasms across his face.

  Maybe the kiss they shared in the park was more than a photo op.

  He sighs. “In every other way she was perfect.”

  And he has to do what’s best for his career and constituents. I just hope that Penelope didn’t have strong feelings for him.

  He sheds his melancholy with a shake of his shoulders. “We received good press as a couple and diced that rumor, but my numbers weren’t much higher with Penelope than they were when I was seeing you.”

  I know all about those numbers because I’ve stayed on top of his publicity.

  “So here I am.” Grant spreads his arms wide.

  I shift my jaw. “Have you forgotten that I’m a Pickwick?”

  He lowers his arms. “That’s problematic, but we can work around it. After all, one is hardly responsible for being born into a particular family. And it’s not as if you have anything sordid to hide yourself.”

  Don’t I?

  A groan sounds, and I turn to see the gate opening. Though I don’t recall hearing it close, it must have.

  Axel steps through. “Would you mind moving your car? I need to get up the hill.”

  “Certainly,” Grant says as I turn back the way I came. He comes alongside me. “Who is that?”

  “My uncle’s godson.”

  “And you were with him?”

  I don’t care for his accusing tone. “He gave me a ride home from church.”

  “Oh? Considering the state of the road I took out of town, my guess is that’s considerably out of his way.”

  “He lives here on the estate.”

  He gives a “hmm” of judgmental proportion. “Living off his doddering old godfather, then.”

  Doddering? Okay, I’m offended. And what right does he have to pass judgment on Axel? He doesn’t even know—! Neither did I, and yet I thought the same thing when Artemis told me about him.

  “Probably sucking the old man dry,” Grant murmurs as we near the gate.

  I shoot him a dirty look. “No, he isn’t. He’s my uncle’s gardener.”

  Grant opens his mouth, then shuts it as we’ve almost reached Axel, who is punching in the code to keep the gate from retracting. With a low whistle, Grant slides the sunglasses onto his face.

  Axel’s eyes have taken on that distinctly un-Blue cast. Doubtless, he saw the kiss that appears to make a lie of my claim that I’m no longer in a relationship. “Uh… this is Grant Spangler, and…”

  Grant thrusts a hand at Axel. “U.S. Congressman Grant Spa
ngler. Piper’s fiancé.”

  What?! But I… we’re not… Oh no, what does Axel think? And after what happened with Luc? This could be bad. Lord, did You not see me at church today?

  With a flick of his gaze that is colder than I’ve ever felt, even when I was last dumbstruck and didn’t deny that his prosthetic leg bothered me, Axel accepts Grant’s handshake. “Axel Smith.”

  “The gardener.” Grant releases him and slides his hands into his pants pockets. “That’s one fine mow job. I’m always amazed at how you guys do it—all those nice diagonal rows.”

  I catch my breath. I’ve never known Grant to be demeaning to those whose collars are other than white, but I’m pretty sure that is what’s going on.

  I look to Axel, hoping to communicate with my eyes how sorry I am, but he’s also staring at the majestic expanse of lawn.

  “I suppose it comes naturally to some people,” Axel says. “Perhaps you should give it a try. You might be a natural yourself.”

  “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty when it’s called for, but I’m more a suit-and-tie kind of guy. Best to leave stuff like this”—Grant pans a hand at the landscape—“to the professionals.”

  And I thought I was a snob. Still, if one didn’t know the true color of Axel’s eyes, they would never guess he’s anything but congenial toward my “fiancé.” And what is that about anyway?

  “Well, sorry for blocking you,” Grant says. “When no one responded to the intercom, I thought it might not be working, so I hopped the gate.”

  And from the looks of his outfit, he was more successful than I—no snags or rust marks.

  Grant retrieves my hand. “Thank you for giving Piper a ride back. I’ll take her up to the estate from here.” As he pulls me toward the gate, I struggle to piece myself back to some semblance of Piper Pickwick—I mean, Wick!

  “Hey!” Grant looks over his shoulder. “That gate isn’t going to close on me, is it?” He pats the sports car’s fender. “Wouldn’t want to put a scratch on this beauty.”

  “It’s set to remain open,” Axel says, and I hear the hitch in his step as he follows.

  A moment later Grant hands me into the car and closes the door. And I feel how a purse that has just been snatched would feel if it had feelings—Oh!

  As Grant slides in, I jump out. “I left my purse in the Jeep. Be right back.”

  Axel is in his seat when I pull open the passenger door. “Axel, I—”

  He holds up a hand. “I told you I don’t like being made a fool of.”

  I lean farther in. “He’s not my fiancé. He’s my client, and though we did talk marriage, we never made it to the engagement stage.”

  “He’s the one you were engaged to be engaged to?”

  “Were. For the past two weeks, he’s been dating someone else, which was going well until he learned of the woman’s past and decided he and I are on again. We aren’t.”

  “Why did he say you are?”

  “I…” I shrug. “Maybe he’s jealous of you?”

  Axel glances at the sports car. “Does he have reason to be?”

  What am I supposed to say? That I would have preferred that Grant’s kiss was Axel’s?

  That is the truth.

  But Grant is more in line with the man I’ve always imagined myself marrying.

  Maybe you’ve been in the wrong line.

  But the line to Axel leads to Pickwick.

  So?

  So?! I don’t belong in Pickwick.

  You belong in L.A.?

  I…well…

  “I shouldn’t have asked such a hard question,” Axel says tightly.

  “No! It’s just that Grant is a highly valued client, and if I lose him…” I splay my hands in a pitifully helpless gesture that would make Piper Wick cringe. “I’m already in hot water with my partners for being gone so long.”

  Axel nods. “And you can only rock the boat so much before it starts taking on water.” He slides on his sunglasses. “Maybe you need to learn to swim, Piper.”

  “Axel—”

  “Whether you’re just compromising yourself or this is another of your PR schemes to make sure I don’t rock the boat by telling your uncle my feelings about your philanthropy idea, I’m not swallowing it anymore. And if you and Luc are—”

  “Me and Luc? I am not part of his schemes.”

  As Axel stares at me through dark lenses, a horn honks. He smiles tightly. “That would be your client.”

  I look in the rearview mirror to where Grant is watching us. “We’ll talk later.”

  I start to close the door when Axel says, “Don’t forget your purse.”

  I am so sideways. I snatch it from the floorboard, close the door, and return to the sports car. “Okay.” I settle in beside Grant. “What’s this about me bein’ your fiancée?”

  He points a finger at me. “You did it again.”

  “What?”

  “That Southern thing—the sticky sweet drawl.”

  I nearly groan. “Grant, you told Axel I’m your fiancée.”

  He curls a hand around the gearshift and looks at me over the tops of his sunglasses. “It’s why I’m here, Piper—to ask you to marry me.”

  24

  No?”

  With an apologetic grimace, I shake my head.

  Grant takes a step back. “Why? I mean, we talked about engagement… marriage… kids… and you always seemed hopeful.”

  That’s embarrassing, but though my staggered pride begs me to prop it up with a disclaimer, I say, “I was hopeful, Grant, because you’re a nice guy and successful and everything I imagined in my future husband.”

  He tosses his palms up. “So?”

  I turn and cross the library to the windows overlooking the front of the mansion. “There has to be more than that.” I peer over my shoulder. “And not just from me.”

  He looks forlorn against the backdrop of the ceiling-high bookshelves. “What do you mean?”

  I lean back against the windowsill. “When you said you had broken it off with Penelope, you seemed distressed, as if you really cared about her.”

  He shifts his weight and glances away. “Come on, I only knew her a couple of weeks. And you know I dated her to stamp out that rumor which you were too busy to help with.”

  “You kissed her.”

  With perfectly executed strides, he crosses the library to my side. “Is that why you’re rejecting my proposal? Jealousy?”

  I tilt my head back. “Grant, you are one of the most conservative people I know, and that kiss…” I shrug. “Though I chalked it up to being a photo op, I don’t think it was. I think you couldn’t help yourself and that you feel for Penelope more than you’ve ever felt for me. And if you weren’t in politics, I would run a distant second to her, regardless of what either of our pasts hold.”

  His brow spasms.

  “There’s that distress again.” I eye his forehead.

  He drags a hand across it. “Two weeks, Piper. That’s nothing.”

  “Could be, but it could also be the beginning of something. Something that you don’t have with me.”

  He makes a sound in his throat. “But maybe I could have it with you.” He suddenly looks desperate, and I feel sorry for him despite the sting of his admission.

  I give his arm a squeeze. “If you’re going to settle for someone, don’t settle for me. You don’t love me, I don’t love you, and while you may reconcile yourself to being married to a Pickwick, there’s a bit more to my past than that.”

  He narrows his eyes. “You said there was something else you wanted to tell me. You never did.”

  I nod. “Unlike Penelope, who was honest with you before you got too involved.”

  He takes a step back, dislodging my hand from his arm. “What?”

  Feeling leprous, I clasp my hands before me. “I was eighteen…” And so the story unfolds.

  Grant grimaces in all the places where I expect him to, and when my condensed story winds down, he shakes
his head. “You know where I stand on pornography.”

  That’s a strong word. “What I did was wrong, but I don’t see it as pornography.”

  “Call it what you will—porno, public nudity—it’s still political suicide.” He claps a hand to the back of his neck and turns away. “Man! Isn’t there a single woman out there with a clean slate?”

  I stomp my foot. “Grant!”

  “What?”

  “Are you telling me you’ve never made a mistake?”

  He frowns. “Of course I’ve made mistakes.”

  “So there are things in your past you regret?”

  “Yes, but normal things, like being suspended in high school for writing on the bathroom walls, losing my cool and cursing, a speeding ticket here and there, misfiling my taxes—the kind of stuff that makes you human. Not pornography and radical cults…” He throws his hands up. “My constituents won’t tolerate that, even if it was teenage rebellion.”

  And to think I was excited to try my PR hand at politics. “They’re not very forgiving, then.”

  He laughs wryly. “Politics isn’t forgiving.”

  “And politics is all that matters?”

  His gaze turns stern. “It’s my life. As for forgiveness, I’d say you’re as afraid of what this Trinity and the town will think of you if you own up to your Lady Godiva ride as I am of continuing to see Penelope.”

  I wish I hadn’t told him about my plan to make restitution to Trinity.

  “You have far less to lose than I do.” He glances out the window. “Especially as you don’t have to live in this backwoods place.”

  “It is not backwoods.”

  Grant gives a half laugh. “Come on, Piper. This isn’t L.A.—or Denver, for that matter.”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  He stares at me, and the deeper his frown goes, the more it seems he’s looking at something totally foreign. Am I? I do feel a bit strange.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing truly new happens here. This isn’t real life. Small towns, particularly Southern ones, are like the youngest kids in large families—everything is hand-me-downs.”

  I scowl. “I’ll have you know that Pickwick is one of the fastest-growing towns in North Carolina. They have Wi-Fi, for goodness’ sake.”