by Gina Wilkins
“Who was Barbara Houston?”
“Isabelle’s mother was Barbara Houston’s niece. Isabelle lived with Mrs. Houston after her parents died, until Mrs. Houston became ill and sent Isabelle to Nathan.”
Adrienne studied the sealed white envelope, noting that there was no return address. “Do you think this is a letter from your father?”
“Could be.” He sounded supremely disinterested.
Adrienne didn’t buy his act for a minute. “Don’t you want to know what it says?”
“Not particularly. My father died a year ago. There’s nothing in that letter that could make any difference now.”
She frowned. “That sounds rather cold. What if he wanted to repair things between you? What if he apologized in this letter for whatever it was that went wrong between the two of you? Wouldn’t it make you feel better to know that he cared enough to make the effort?”
He turned to face her then, his eyes hard. “Look, Adrienne, you and your father probably have a close relationship, since you work for him, which, I’m sure, makes him very happy. It must be hard for you to understand that not everyone has that type of father-child attachment. Nothing I ever did pleased my father, and there’s nothing he could have said in that letter that could make up for the things he did to me or the rest of my family.”
She bit her lip as he turned back to his computer. Looking down at the neat stacks of mail that had given her such satisfaction earlier, she said quietly, “You’re wrong about me not understanding. My relationship with my father isn’t at all what you assumed. To be honest, it’s very strained and distant. I’ve never been able to live up to his standards, either, and I’ve spent twenty-eight years trying.”
Though he didn’t look around again, his tone was just a bit warmer when he asked, “Why do you keep trying?”
“Because my mother died when I was twelve, and he’s the only family I have,” she answered simply. “He would probably adjust quite well if I severed all ties between us, but I’m not sure I’m prepared to be completely alone.”
Gideon had his mother and his siblings. Whether he professed to be close to them or not, she had already recognized the bond he felt with them. He was the one who couldn’t understand what it was like to have no one at all.
“I’m hungry,” she said abruptly, reaching for her crutches. “I think I’ll go make a sandwich. Do you want me to make one for you while I’m at it?”
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry. But why don’t you let me make you a sandwich? You don’t need to be—”
“Thank you, but I would rather do it myself,” she interrupted firmly. “I need the exercise.”
She hobbled out of the room before he could argue further. This time his clumsy attempt at solicitude had failed to charm her.
Chapter Six
Gideon was still thinking about the things Adrienne had let slip when he parked in front of Isabelle’s school a short while later. It sounded as though her relationship with her father was as tangled and painful as his had been. If so, she needed to find the courage to cut the cord if she was ever going to be happy.
He’d figured out quite young that he couldn’t spend his entire life trying to fulfill someone else’s expectations. Shortly after that, he’d learned the hard way that having expectations for anyone else inevitably led to disillusionment and disappointment.
His solution had been to pretty much cut himself off from everyone. He didn’t try to please anyone else, and he didn’t expect anyone to do otherwise for him. When he was in the mood for company, he found it—no strings, no promises, no expectations. When he wanted to be around family, he had his mother and Nathan nearby, and Deborah, during her infrequent visits home.
Isabelle was a new element in his family mix, but he was adapting to her well enough. He had actually grown quite fond of her, as much as he allowed himself to care for anyone. He could give a hand with her this time without entangling himself in any long-term obligations.
His way was working out very well for him. He didn’t describe himself as a happy sort of guy, but he supposed he was content enough. Adrienne could take a few lessons from him, he told himself with a touch of superiority.
Parents who had arrived at the same time as Gideon to collect their offspring nodded greetings to him with a combination of curiosity and wariness when he entered the school. He knew his reputation around town—the reclusive, often surly son of the man who had caused the biggest scandal to hit this area in decades.
Inclined for those reasons not to like him, the locals were still rather impressed that he’d become a noted author. The people of this town didn’t want to totally alienate Gideon—just in case he ever became really famous, like John Grisham or some of those other Mississippi celebrities.
He found the situation rather amusing, though he made no effort to play any social games with them. He had yet to accept any invitations to speak to local writers’ groups or civic clubs. Anything he had to say, they could find in his books.
Isabelle waited for him in her classroom, her little purple backpack strapped in place, her expression somber. She reached out to take his hand, and he thought she clung to him somewhat more tightly than usual.
“She’s been awfully quiet this afternoon,” her teacher confided in a stage whisper. “I don’t know if she’s tired or not feeling well, but you might want to keep an eye on her this evening.”
The possibility that Isabelle could be ill was enough to strike fear into him. What the heck did he know about taking care of a sick kid? He was already dealing with an injured agent.
As Adrienne’s rental car had been taken out of commission, he’d brought his truck. The booster seat had been retrieved from the wrecked rental, so he hoisted Isabelle into it and made sure she was safely strapped in before he climbed into the driver’s seat and fastened his own seat belt. Only when they were on the road toward his house did he find the nerve to ask the uncharacteristically silent child, “Aren’t you feeling well, Isabelle?”
“I feel okay.”
Her tone was so dispirited that he felt his jaw tense. “Uh, is something else wrong? Anything you want to talk about?”
“No.” She looked out the passenger window, and he was suddenly struck by her resemblance to their father.
It wasn’t just that she had their father’s coloring, though, like Nathan and Deborah, Isabelle was blond, fair-skinned and blue-eyed. Gideon had inherited his mother’s brown hair and deep-green eyes, which had always made him feel somewhat like a dark changeling among his fair siblings. At the moment it was Isabelle’s expression that reminded him so forcibly of Stuart McCloud—a set, inscrutable mask that effectively concealed anything she might be thinking or feeling. He’d been told he most resembled his father when he unconsciously assumed that same expression. It was particularly disconcerting to recognize it in his four-year-old half sister.
They made the remainder of the drive in silence. Gideon supposed he should try harder to find out what was bothering Isabelle, and he might have done so, had he not had the advantage of knowing Adrienne was waiting for them. Adrienne would probably know just what to do to find out what was bothering Isabelle, and then just what to say to make everything all right again.
Adrienne was as bewildered by Isabelle’s behavior as Gideon had been.
“Something is obviously wrong,” she murmured to Gideon late in the afternoon. “She hasn’t said half a dozen words since she got home from school, and that is just so unlike her that I can’t help but worry.”
Frowning in frustration, Gideon pushed a hand through his hair. “All she wants to do is sit in the den and watch TV. She didn’t even want a snack, though I offered ice cream, her favorite food.”
“She must be coming down with something. Maybe you should call your mother or your brother.”
“And tell them what? That Isabelle’s too quiet? No fever, no complaints of pain, no other symptoms of illness, how are they supposed to know what’s wrong? And I can’t e
xpect Mom to leave her sister, or Nathan to cut his honeymoon short, just because Isabelle’s unusually subdued.”
“Then maybe your other sister?”
He snorted. “Deborah has spent even less time around Isabelle than I have. She’s still coming to terms with having another sibling in the family.”
Whatever their father had done to the family, Adrienne couldn’t imagine anyone holding it against sweet little Isabelle. But it seemed that she and Gideon were on their own with this dilemma, whatever its cause.
She drew a breath and nodded. “I’ll go try to talk to her again.”
“We’ll both try again.” He followed close behind her as she limped into the den, deliberately leaving the cumbersome crutches behind.
Isabelle was still parked in front of the TV, her eyes focused almost unblinkingly on the screen. Yet she seemed to find little pleasure in the taped shenanigans. Adrienne settled on the couch beside the child while Gideon took one of the chairs.
“What would you like for dinner tonight, Isabelle?” Adrienne asked, hoping an innocuous opening would lead to a more meaningful conversation.
Without looking away from the television, Isabelle shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
Adrienne looked at Gideon. Your turn.
He cleared his throat, then snapped his fingers. “This is Wednesday. Didn’t your schedule say you have a dance class at five?”
Isabelle scooted a couple of inches closer to Adrienne and looked at Gideon with big, somber eyes. “Do I have to go? I don’t want to.”
“You want to miss your dance class?” Adrienne asked her. “Dance class is fun, isn’t it? I know I always enjoyed going to them when I was your age.”
Gideon raised an eyebrow, as if he were picturing her in a tutu, but she kept her attention focused on Isabelle. “I’ll go with you, if you like.”
Isabelle shook her head. “I don’t want to go.”
Adrienne and Gideon looked at each other again, and he obviously had no more idea what to do than she did. After a moment he shrugged. “Okay, no dance class tonight. If she’s coming down with something, she doesn’t need to be spreading it around to the other kids.”
She had to concede that he’d made a point. “Okay. So, what would you like to do, Isabelle? Do you want me to play a game with you?”
Isabelle shook her head. “Not right now,” she said, then crawled without warning into Adrienne’s lap. She nestled her head in Adrienne’s throat and gave a little sigh. “Could I just sit here for a little while?”
Nonplussed, she felt Isabelle’s face with her hand again, but the soft cheeks were cool, without even a hint of fever. “Sweetheart, are you sure nothing hurts? No tummy ache or sore throat or ear ache or anything?”
Isabelle shook her head against Adrienne’s shoulder. “I don’t hurt anywhere.”
Settling more comfortably back into the cushions, Adrienne wrapped her arms around the child and prepared to stay that way for a while. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Isabelle was so very young, little more than a baby. And here she was stuck with two rather clueless caretakers who were practically strangers to her, even if one of them was her brother. It was entirely possible that she was simply homesick and needed a little cuddling.
Gideon stood and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It’s a little early, but I guess I’ll go start dinner. Any special requests?”
Adrienne shook her head. “Anything’s fine with us, isn’t is, Isabelle?”
Isabelle nodded. “Gideon’s a good cook.”
Gideon looked a bit startled and then, to Adrienne’s amusement, rather pleased by the compliment. “Yes,” she murmured, “Gideon is a very good cook.”
With typically masculine embarrassment, Gideon muttered something incomprehensible and made his escape, leaving Adrienne rocking Isabelle soothingly as they watched cartoons together.
Gideon spent quite a while preparing dinner—teriyaki chicken with rice and vegetables. For dessert, he made brownies from a mix he found in the pantry. He told himself the reason for the special meal was to tempt Isabelle into eating, certainly not to show off his culinary skills.
He was just putting the finishing touches on the meal when the telephone rang. He glared at it for a moment, then gave in and reached for the receiver. If this was a telemarketer, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.
But the caller was his sister, Deborah. “You answered the phone,” she said in exaggerated astonishment. “Wow.”
“Since you call me fairly frequently and get through, you needn’t act so surprised. What’s up, Deb?”
“If you think a call every couple of months or so is frequent…” She let the sentence trail off, then went on, “Actually, I’m trying to reach mother. I’ve been calling her since last night and I keep getting her machine. Do you know if anything’s wrong?”
Succinctly explaining the situation with their aunt, Gideon added, “I’m surprised she didn’t let you know.”
“I’ve been out of town on a business trip. She left a message on my machine that Aunt Wanda had been hurt, but she sounded rushed and didn’t give many details.”
“She’s been staying at the hospital with Wanda.”
“Surely she doesn’t have Isabelle with her.”
“No, actually, I have Isabelle.”
“You?” Deborah seemed to doubt that she had heard him correctly. “You’re baby-sitting?”
“Yes. It wasn’t as if Mom gave me any other choice.”
“I’m just surprised that even Mom’s tactics got you to agree to this. What did she use? Guilt? Pleas? Threats?”
“A combination of inducements, actually,” Gideon answered dryly.
“So, how’s it going? Have you learned how to do a French braid yet? Sing a lullaby?”
“I’ve been getting by,” he said, feeling just a touch defensive. And then—because he knew she would find out eventually—he felt compelled to add, “I’ve had a little help. My agent is staying here for a few days. She and Isabelle have sort of bonded.”
He glanced toward the kitchen doorway, picturing Adrienne in the other room with Isabelle snuggled in her arms. As he had stood there looking at them, he’d been aware of mixed emotions—one of them an inappropriate touch of envy. He wouldn’t have minded having Adrienne’s arms around him.
It wasn’t the first time he’d acknowledged his attraction to her, but he was just starting to realize how strong that attraction had grown. Which didn’t mean there were any more-dangerous emotions involved, of course. Sure, he wanted to hit the sheets with her, but he was still fully prepared for her to leave in a day or two and go back to being an efficiently professional voice on the other end of the telephone line.
Not that he was ready for her to leave just yet, but only because he still needed her help with Isabelle, he assured himself.
“What’s your agent doing there?”
“She came to discuss some publishing offers and to map out some career plans with me.” Not that they had actually accomplished either of those things, he added to himself.
All things considered, she had been remarkably patient with him. Not only had he avoided talking business with her since she’d arrived, but he’d closed himself in his office for hours at a time, manipulated her into helping out with his little sister, which had indirectly resulted in her being injured, and he’d even dumped secretarial duties onto her. And still she was doing everything she could to assist him with Isabelle and his writing.
Was it any wonder he suspected he might miss her—a little—when she returned to New York?
“You could always come give me a hand,” he suggested to his sister.
“No way. I don’t do kids, remember? If the rest of you want to clutter things up with the result of Dad’s thoughtlessness, that’s your choice, but I have a life.”
Deborah sounded cold and cynical—as Gideon himself had been accused of being on many occasions—but he knew that with Deborah, it was all fa
cade. She’d erected it so successfully that it probably fooled most people—but Gideon knew her better. His own resistance to forming emotional bonds was based on selfish convenience—or so he’d always told himself. Deborah’s was founded on fear.
“I’ll tell Mom to call you next time she checks in.”
“Okay, thanks. Good luck with everything there.”
“I’ll give your best to Isabelle.”
“Yeah.” Her voice was almost brittle now. “You do that.”
Hanging up the phone, Gideon turned back to his dinner preparations. He understood Deborah’s bitterness, of course—far too well—but he was beginning to think she was missing out by not giving herself a chance to get to know Isabelle better. As resistant as he’d been, himself, to letting another sibling into his life at this late stage, he’d grown fond of his little sister. He just hoped this newest problem wouldn’t prove to be a total catastrophe.
Adrienne was relieved that Isabelle seemed to perk up a bit during the excellent dinner Gideon had prepared for them. Though Isabelle only picked at the food at first, she seemed to quickly decide that she liked it. She ate enough to satisfy Adrienne and Gideon, then finished the meal with a small brownie and another half glass of milk.
“That was really good, Gideon,” she said when she’d finished.
Her brother set his tea glass on the table. “Glad you liked it.”
“You’re a better cook than Nate. He mostly opens cans or orders out. Mrs. T.’s a good cook, though.”
“Mrs. T. is Nathan’s housekeeper, Fayrene Tuckerman,” Gideon said for Adrienne’s benefit.
She could tell he was amused by Isabelle’s comparison of his cooking to his brother’s. “Does your brother’s new wife cook?” she asked Isabelle.
The child frowned. “I don’t know. Mrs. T. cooks for all of us.”
Once again Gideon elucidated. “Caitlin is Nathan’s law partner. They’re both fine lawyers, but domestic chores aren’t high on their priority lists.”
