“She said she wanted to get a feel for the town,” Benson replied. “That’s all, sir. Just a feel for the town.”
Adam sighed. “Wait here, Benson. I’ll find her.” And he strode up Dockside Avenue to do so.
A half hour later he ran her to ground in Belle’s Book Nook, sitting behind the cherrywood bank teller’s cage Belle used as a desk and chatting up a blue streak with Belle’s daughter, Rorie Ann.
“Well, speak of the devil and look who walks in.” Rorie flashed a smile reckless with welcome, then she leaned across the polished cherrywood, providing him with a good view of her cleavage. In one form or another, Adam had been receiving the same smile—and as often as not, the same view—from the nubile daughters of Sea Change for almost as long as he could remember. He was always careful to return the smile with the proper balance of warmth and discouragement. The view he tried to ignore completely. Any other response was dangerous. Not so long ago, one of the tabloids had run a front-page story on Bryce’s secret elopement with one of the local young women. The report was blatantly false, the grainy photos obviously doctored, and a few words from Archer, in the form of a legal threat, had resulted in a stilted apology. But somehow that never seemed to allay the gossip. So Adam was careful. Always. And he advised his brothers, however futilely, to be cautious, too. “Hello, Rorie Ann,” he said with a careful smile.
“Hel-lo, Adam.” She stretched the words into several seductive syllables and barely let her glance cut to Katie. “This is Adam Braddock. The one I was telling you about, Katie. Adam, this is Katie Canton.”
“We’ve met.” He resisted the urge to consult his watch and thereby, make Katie aware she was causing an unnecessary delay. “In fact, she’s the reason I’m here.” Ignoring the swift reassessment in Rorie’s expression, he smiled amiably at Katie. “I’ve been looking for you. Benson had no idea where you had gone.”
“You know each other?” Rorie clearly was calculating all she’d divulged in however long the women had been chatting and trying to recall if she’d said anything she might not want repeated. “We were just talking about the Christmas decorations,” she said, swiftly allying herself with Adam and the rest of the Braddocks. “I was telling her that this town isn’t going to put up a bunch of gaudy, tinsel reindeer just because a few people have no taste.”
Adam was weary of the argument already, and he’d only been in town long enough to mediate a fifteen-minute feud between Mayor Henry and Councilwoman Browning. And, of course, the thirty minutes he’d spent listening to various other complaints as he’d hurried in and out of the shops, searching for his missing party planner. “We should be going, Katie,” he said impatiently, even though it was not yet noon. “The day is getting away from us and you’ll want to see the Hall in natural light.”
Rorie frowned at her new confidant, surprise etched all over her pretty face. “You’re going with him? To the Hall?”
Katie unfolded herself from the chair with the leisurely grace of a dancer. Or a kickboxer. “He didn’t give me much choice,” she said with a playful smile. “The man all but kidnapped me this morning.”
“Kidnapped?” Rorie’s eyes rounded with curiosity as her gaze swivelled to him. “Really?”
“She’s here to take a look around the Hall,” he explained, knowing the propensity of the town grapevine to turn anything he did into something it wasn’t. Next thing he knew, the tabloids would have him kidnapping women for sport. “Katie is in charge of planning Grandfather’s birthday party next month.”
Rorie turned to Katie, accusation in her eyes. “You didn’t mention that.”
“I’m sorry.” Katie sounded honestly sincere. “I didn’t know it was important.”
Now that was a bit cavalier, Adam thought, even for the casual Ms. Canton. “More so to some than others.” He matched her nonchalance, knowing Rorie would miss the undertone, and that Katie wouldn’t.
“Thanks for the recommendations.” Katie came around the teller’s cage with a canvas bag stuffed to the brim with books.
He automatically reached to take the bag, but her frown warned him away.
“I’ll carry them, thanks.” She hefted the bag into her arms, bowing a little with the weight.
“It’s heavy,” he said, making another, chivalrous attempt to relieve her of the burden.
She swung her armful of books out of reach. “Honestly, I prefer to carry them myself. It’s part of the experience of buying a book, you know. The weight of it in your hands. The anticipation of opening it when you’re alone.”
“Doesn’t the anticipation of so many at one time strain the experience?”
She flashed a smile, then added a conciliatory, “No, but thanks for your concern, anyway.” Turning sideways, she squeezed between him and a tall shelf marked American Literature, 20th Century, the bulging sack pulling at his suit jacket as she crawfished past, the warmth of her touching him in passing, a soft jasmine scent catching him unaware with its pleasure. “Bye, Rorie,” she called. “It was great meeting you.”
“Same here.” Rorie said, although she didn’t sound too sure of it. “See you at the meeting this afternoon, Adam.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, even though he’d rather do practically anything else. But he’d be there, of course. As soon as he’d dropped Katie off at the Hall and checked some figures in his office there. He’d prefer to be in Providence, of course, but as chairman of the town council, he had an obligation to attend the meeting and arbitrate some kind of peace. One way or another, Braddocks had been mediating the battles of Sea Change since the town was founded by the first James Braddock in 1805. Taking part in local matters was a family tradition and Adam wasn’t about to be the first Braddock in nearly two hundred years to cast Sea Change politics adrift in a stormy sea of conflict and indecision, no matter how much he’d like to.
With a nod and a smile for Rorie, he followed Katie’s overladen progress toward the door, trying to see over her shoulder to read, at least, the top title of her purchases. Louisiana Myths, it looked like, although he couldn’t be sure the way she bobbed and weaved around tables and shelves, toting the weight of all that anticipation. “What are you going to do with all those books?” he asked, wondering if he’d be allowed to open the door for her, or if struggling with the knob was a part of the book-buying experience, too. “Once you’re alone with them, that is.”
“Read them.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Then give them to someone else to read. What do you do with books?”
“I get someone else to carry them whenever possible.” He reached past her and pushed open the door, an action she met with a mysterious sort of smile. He found himself smiling back, stupidly pleased to be able to do something for her. Then, just as swiftly, he remembered the time she’d cost him already today and was annoyed that she didn’t seem to know, or care, he’d had to spend the better part of a half hour tracking her down. He was annoyed she wouldn’t let him carry the books she’d bought. He was even annoyed by the carefree bounce of her dark curls. There was something familiar about that. About her. A fleeting thought that he’d seen her somewhere before. A Providence party, most likely.
“I see you found some books, Ms. Canton.” Benson, efficient as always, had followed Adam’s progress along Dockside and the Rolls was parked right in front of the store. The chauffeur stepped forward and Katie handed over the bag of books without a quibble. The book-buying experience must end at the curb, Adam decided.
“I did. And some really interesting people.” Her expression lit up like a floodlight as she cast a pleased glance around her. “This is a charmingly provincial little town. I only wish I’d found it sooner.”
As Adam came up behind her, hoping to hurry her into the car and save some of what remained of the morning, she pressed her hands to the small of her back and bent backward in a supple stretch…bringing into pointed focus the fact that she had breasts. A rather nicely rounded set, too. He couldn’t help but notice, and
even though he’d been treated to the sight of thrust-out chests quite often, he realized no woman had ever been quite so unselfconscious about it.
He realized he was still staring when she uncurved her body and came upright again, a tiny furrow of concentration between her brows, the light of speculation in her very blue eyes. “You know,” she said, as if speaking to no one in particular. “The way the light poles are made, it would be super easy to hang those decorative flags from them. The ones that have firecrackers for the Fourth of July and tulips for spring and snowmen for winter.” Her gaze came back to him and she smiled. “Maybe you should suggest that at your town meeting.”
“Too simple a solution for Sea Change,” he said, wishing she’d just get in the car, but realizing in the next instant her suggestion had merit. Flags bearing symbols of the season might be a feasible alternative to the tinsel reindeer proposed by some and the jingle-bell wreaths supported by others. Flags. Simple, tasteful, and possible. Now how had she done that? He regarded her backside as she climbed into the Rolls. A rather nice backside, it was, too. And, despite the fact that her toenails were painted a startling shade of neon pink and one toe sported a slender silver band, the flash of ankles and slender calves couldn’t help but catch his eye. Who was this woman, anyway? He was beginning to wonder if he should have hired her on Ilsa Fairchild’s recommendation alone. On the other hand, there was no getting around the fact that she was creative. And different. And here, which meant he didn’t have to waste any more time finding someone else to plan the party.
“Benson,” he said. “Let’s get out of town before we lose her again.”
“Yes, sir.” The chauffeur tugged the brim of his cap. “She did lead you quite a chase, didn’t she, sir?” Benson had been chauffeuring the Braddock brothers from place to place for more than twenty years and was as much a part of the extended family as anyone else at the Hall. He never trespassed on the boundaries of the relationship, of course, but he didn’t hesitate to share a little joke now and then, either.
“Yes,” Adam said. “She did.”
And he was all set to discuss that point with her, too, when he climbed into the car to take his seat beside her.
But she was talking on her cell phone and didn’t seem to know he was there.
Chapter Three
Imagination was Katie’s strong suit. She’d needed a good one growing up in a house where children were considered more trouble than they were worth. Her grandparents had been good people at heart, but if they’d ever known much happiness it had died with her father and there was simply none left over to give to her. Living with them, she’d had the basic food, clothing and shelter, but any joy she found in the lonely hours and minutes that made up her days, she had to create on her own. So she taught herself to anticipate every pleasure, savor the sights and sounds she could imagine every bit as much or more than the reality when it came. But as accomplished as her imagination was, Braddock Hall was nothing like she’d thought it would be.
From her first glimpse of the house through the smoky tint of the car window to the moment Adam had basically abandoned her in a foyer large enough to hold an orchestra, Katie had been almost afraid to blink for fear the house would vanish in a poof of unsettling reality. But in the hour she’d been strolling from room to room, unchallenged and undisturbed, the place had only improved, taken on a touchable, livable type of charm—if a home as elegant as this one and the size of a small hospital besides, could correctly be called charming.
She’d seen pictures of New England estates, of course, the huge multi-story dwellings that were rightly called the castles of America. She’d even caught glimpses of some of them when she’d lived a few months on Long Island. But she’d never actually seen one up close before and to be turned loose on her own reconnaissance…Well, her imagination was taking a back seat to reality today, that was for sure!
It would have been nice to have a guide on her excursion, someone to give her a bit of history on the house, but Adam had made it clear to her in the presence of a poker-faced butler named Abbott that he had pressing matters of business to attend, and she should wander the house and grounds at will. He’d instructed her to inform Abbott, who would, in turn, inform Benson, when she was ready to return to the city. Then he’d walked off, asking questions of Abbott as he went, dialing a number on the cell phone at the same time, his attention already tuned in to the problematic buyout, and oblivious to the considerable merits of her most appealing smile. He and the butler had disappeared behind a pair of heavy wooden doors before she could ask either one of them to point her in the general direction of the ladies’ room.
But according to Rorie, who talked as if she knew, there wasn’t much need for a ladies’ room, this being strictly a household of men. No female had lived within the walls of Braddock Hall since Adam’s grandmother had died two years before. There was a housekeeper, Ruth, but she lived in Sea Change, rode her bicycle back and forth on pleasant days, was picked up by Benson the rest of the time and, according to Rorie, wouldn’t open her mouth to say hello to those who were dying to find out what went on behind the great walls of the estate.
Apparently the Braddocks were much talked about in the village of Sea Change. At least by the womenfolk there. Not that there was—also according to Rorie, who had proved to be a veritable fountain of gossip—much information forthcoming from those who worked on the estate, a closemouthed bunch, the lot of them, though it wasn’t from lack of effort on the part of the townspeople. In addition to Ruth, there was a quartet of women from Providence who came Monday through Friday to clean and there were also a couple of female gardeners among the mostly male crew of groundskeepers, but by and large, Braddock Hall was an enclave of males. Adam’s grandfather and Adam, along with his two younger brothers, Bryce and Peter, all resided at the Hall…more or less. The father, James, visited from time to time but almost never stayed more than a night or two. Usually, he brought his current wife—a position that changed, according to Rorie, as regularly as the season. But if other women ever spent the night at Braddock Hall, it wasn’t reported to the local folks. The family was zealously protective of their privacy.
And so, the Brothers Braddock formed a mysterious fraternity, a hotbed of speculation, a source of endless fascination for the residents of the town, and they were the embodiment of every wish Rorie Reynolds had ever made on the evening star. That much Katie had figured out for herself within the first ten minutes of their chat.
But now that she was seeing the place firsthand, she could understand the level of interest. If she lived in Sea Change, she’d probably spend a disproportionate amount of time discussing the Braddock men, too. There was a great deal of history in the house, the synergy of power and traces of a family life. Hard to believe that Adam Braddock had a family life, but there were photographs all around declaring that he did. Katie looked at everything without compunction and tried to imagine the family that had created Adam, the automated businessman. She was tempted to open the doors he’d disappeared behind and ask him flat-out what it had been like to grow up in this wonderful house, but a set of open French doors and an expanse of greenery called her outside, instead.
This, she decided after a few soft breaths of fragrance, was where she would like to retire. Maybe Braddock Hall could use a female statue. She’d spent one week as a live mannequin in Marshall Field’s Houston store. She could put the experience to good use here—just stand perfectly still in this beautiful flower garden and be decorative. Not that Adam would notice…unless she attached a cell phone to her hip. Katie sighed, wishing it didn’t bother her so much to be ignored by him. It wasn’t as if she wanted his attention. Well, okay, so she wouldn’t mind a little flirtation, a yin and yang kind of conversational exchange. He was a very attractive man and it was only human to want to believe he found her at least somewhat attractive, too. But then, inevitably, he’d want to know what she had planned for his grandfather’s party and she’d have to explain that sh
e was not a party planner. Never had been. And from there…well, things could not come to a good end.
A low, tuneful whistling of “Baby, Let Your Hair Hang Low” drew her around a maze of shrubbery to a hothouse formed of frosted glass panels. An elderly man in bright blue coveralls was just inside the open doorway, mixing potting soil and enjoying his work, if the whistling was a good indication. “Hi,” she said softly, not wanting to startle him by her sudden presence.
He looked up, and his green eyes took in her appearance in a spry glance. Then, he straightened and dusted his gloved hands against his coveralls. “Well, hello,” he said. “Who might you be?”
“I might be a water sprite in search of a lily pond or a butterfly looking for a garden,” she answered blithely catching a glimpse of the extensive flowerings inside the greenhouse. “But I’m actually just a pseudo party planner who was told to tour the grounds, so that’s what I’m doing. And thoroughly enjoying it, too.”
“Told by whom?” The gardener inquired.
“Adam.” She thought she recognized a fragrant waxy bloom and couldn’t believe it would prosper so far from its tropical habitat. “Is that a plumeria?”
He glanced behind him and nodded. “Fragile, but doing its best to give me the blooms I’m after. You say Adam told you to look around?”
“Yes. Adam Braddock. The owner.” She frowned. “Or one of them, at any rate. Do you know him?”
The old man smiled. “Oh, yes. I know him.”
“Well, of course. I didn’t mean you wouldn’t. I’m sure he’s a very, uh, hands-on employer.”
His laugh was aged with life and mellow, like a good wine. “I don’t think I’d go so far as to say that.”
The C.E.O.'s Unplanned Proposal Page 6
