by Law, Kim
That meant he hadn’t been the only one to feel it. Whatever it had been.
Simply a connection?
Love?
Love was what they’d both called it.
He shook his head. People didn’t know what love was at that age. Not the lasting kind. It had been lust.
Nevertheless, it had broken his heart when it ended.
And now he found out that Cat hadn’t even been the one to end it.
Well, shit. Life sometimes handed you crap.
He pointed at his mom. “You shouldn’t have done that. I deserved to know what was going on.”
She nodded. Sorrow filled her eyes. “I just wanted to protect you.”
He knew that. He may have been able to handle the truth, but she’d still been his mom. And he’d still been only fifteen. Of course she would have done her best to protect him.
It was simple. He and Cat had been too young. He hadn’t needed to risk the threats her mom had made, not to mention, it would have benefitted no one if Emma Davenport had gone a step further and decided to exploit his true parentage. Especially when he hadn’t even known about it himself.
So yes, it had been for the best. Going their separate ways, he and Cat had had the world in front of them. She more so than him, but he couldn’t complain. He liked his life. He’d done well.
He was just tired of being alone.
That thought caught him out of the blue, but it was true. He was tired of going home alone. Of not having someone to confide in. Even his ex-fiancée had been someone to talk to. He’d wanted that in his life. A wife, kids. There was regret there. Not for losing Devan. He was lucky not to have married her. She’d used him.
She’d had a goal and she’d made it happen. Just one more huge lesson about not getting mixed up with politics.
Yet there was regret nonetheless. He’d wanted so much more.
He looked at his mom, at the weariness coloring her eyes. He didn’t want her to hurt because of this. It was history. No sense crying over spilled milk.
“It’s okay, Mom.” He sat beside her and reached for her hand. “Her mother was right.” It galled him to say that because the woman had overstepped her bounds by making veiled threats. “We weren’t right for each other. But I do appreciate you telling me now.”
She was silent for a moment before asking, “So there’s still something there?”
“What?” He jerked back. “No. There’s nothing there. I’ve barely spoken to her.”
“But she’s staying next door to you.”
“How do you even know that? You live an hour from here.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t even have to come into town to find that out. I got a call last week when she arrived. Apparently she’s big news up here.”
Geez. People needed to mind their own business. Leave the girl alone. She was barely leaving her house, so it was clear she’d come for solitude.
“Fine,” he said. “Whatever. People are talking about her. But don’t add to it, Mom. Give her privacy. And no, there is nothing between her and me.”
“Not even old feelings?”
He studied his mother. No way in hell he would tell his mother that he’d thought about Cat more than once an hour since she’d arrived practically on his doorstep. And at least three times an hour since he’d seen her at the museum.
“Not even old feelings,” he said.
Her mouth softened into a smile. “Good,” she whispered. “Because this time I would be the mother telling you that you don’t need that in your life. You don’t need the trouble of being mixed up with a Davenport, no matter how good a person she might be. Not given the campaign your brother is currently running against her mother.”
Brody just barely managed to hold in a grunt of disgust at the thought of how his brother, Thomas, and Arthur Harrison ran campaigns. He’d watched from afar plenty of times over the years to know the drill. He still couldn’t believe he shared their blood.
“Don’t I know it,” he confirmed.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BREEZE FROM the ocean lifted Cat’s hair away from her neck Wednesday evening as she wandered along the pebbled sand at the edge of the water. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and everything had turned to long shades of blues and pinks. She carried a large, bushy flower in her hand, and every once in a while the wind whipped one of the small, white petals away, sending it floating through the air. Each time this happened, Cat stopped walking and watched until it drifted out of sight.
Her heart was aching.
She’d come out about an hour earlier, and the farther she went, the more her steps had slowed. Not because of the long walk she’d have back to her cottage. In fact, she looked forward to it. Even in the dark, with the nip in the air. She was able to think here. About the past. The future.
About Brody.
She touched the blossom to her cheek.
She was able to see reality for what it had been.
She’d been a very young girl making a very big decision. Cat knew her daughter would have had a far better life with her adoptive mother than she ever could have with Cat as a teenage mom. Or with Cat and Brody—if that could have somehow happened. And yes, she’d known that for years. But here, it somehow made more sense.
Patricia Weathers had been a good woman. A college friend of Cat’s mother and an OB-GYN working in San Francisco, Patricia had taken Cat in during her pregnancy. Her understanding and compassion had helped assuage Cat’s guilt about giving up her baby.
As the months wore on, Cat continuing to worry over the decisions she’d made and the future of her daughter, she’d begun to see that Patricia cared about Annabelle, too. Even before the baby had been born. Thus, when Patricia made the suggestion that she be Annabelle’s mother, Cat had known it was the right thing to do.
It would be a closed adoption. And Cat would never see her daughter again.
That was the way it had to be. They couldn’t have a Davenport out in the wild. Neither Cat nor her unborn child would be able to live their lives without the story continuously making the rounds—not without criticism for decisions made, and interruptions to her daughter’s life.
But it had still broken Cat’s heart.
She’d loved her daughter. She’d wanted the very best for her.
Annabelle would have been an adult now. She would have been a lovely woman, and Cat would have been proud of however she’d turned out.
So it was time to let go.
She stopped walking and closed her eyes as the cool, salty breeze brushed over her skin. She’d seen Annabelle for only a few seconds before she’d been whisked away. And then Cat had cried for months.
Annabelle still showed up in her dreams occasionally. Some nights she had blonde hair like Cat’s, but more often, she was a brunette. Nine times out of ten her eyes were green. The exact shade of Brody’s. And always, she smiled upon seeing Cat.
Possibly, Cat could have moved on easier if she’d been able to make the decision to give her up alongside Brody. That’s a regret she’d lived with for years. She should have tried harder to contact him. But he’d stopped calling.
They’d declared their love, said good-bye, and she’d never seen him again.
Until now.
Nineteen years ago, he’d been unsure of himself. Smart and funny and sweet and kind. Such a good guy. But so unsure. He’d been brainy and thin and hadn’t felt as if he fit in.
But now he volunteered his time to kids. He had a doctorate and taught history at the college. And from the Internet searches she’d performed over the last couple of days, he was a well-respected, well-honored person of the community.
And he was hot.
Steaming.
And he jogged on the beach every morning.
Not that she’d been outside watching him lately. After
realizing who he was, she’d been too embarrassed to be on the deck at the same time he was jogging. She feared he’d figure out she wasn’t just out there enjoying the arrival of the new day.
That didn’t mean she hadn’t stood at her window and enjoyed the view, though. A girl did deserve some fun.
Plus, she’d confined herself to the house until the news about the donation to the museum had died down. It had been released to the larger publications, but she’d wanted to maintain her privacy as much as possible. At least as long as she could. So she’d stayed in.
When her kids came up later in the month, her brother and sister-in-law coming along with them, there would be no hiding then. At that time, she’d move over to the Davenport home.
But for now, this time was hers.
Which stupidly meant she still wanted to cross the yard to her neighbor’s house.
She opened her eyes and started moving again. What was the worst that could happen? He’d say no? It’s not like she’d lose anything. That particular well had been dry for four years. Going another summer running on empty wouldn’t kill her.
She walked a few more minutes before realizing she’d reached the spot she’d been working up the courage to visit all week. It was where she’d hung out that summer nineteen years ago. There had been anywhere from ten to thirty people here on any given night. With bonfires, parties, dancing. Drinking.
They’d told ghost stories and real stories. They’d just been a group of innocent kids—most of them here for the summer with limited parental supervision—having the time of their lives.
And not far from the spot she now stood was where she and Brody had shared their last night. They’d found an old gazebo on one of their many walks, and the two of them had sat there for hours talking, knowing they would be separating the next day. Knowing they wouldn’t see each other again until the next summer.
Just before daylight they’d made love.
It had been clumsy, neither of them having any idea what they were doing, but it had been one of the sweetest things she’d ever experienced. They were memories she’d hold for life.
She continued making her way across the beach as she recalled the tender feelings of those eight weeks with Brody. She had loved him. As much as a sixteen-year-old could. He’d been her first love. She’d fallen for the slightly geeky, shy boy because she’d seen the beauty inside him. He’d loved his mother, he’d loved learning new things. And he’d loved her. She’d wanted it to last forever.
She wasn’t that girl anymore, though. She’d married a terrific man who’d given her two beautiful children before he’d been killed in a friendly fire incident. Her life was good. It couldn’t be better.
Only, Brody was here again. And so was she.
The instant she’d realized who he was, all the old feelings had resurfaced. He’d been standing in the middle of those kids at the museum with a wild look on his face, as if horrified at the mere potential of things getting out of control. And he’d suddenly reminded her of the unsure teen she’d once known, who’d been worried that none of her friends would like him.
She’d had to step in and help. Even if he hadn’t needed her.
She’d also wanted an excuse to be near him.
When she’d returned from the bathroom with the girls, she’d hung out for only a few minutes before Janet, the museum owner, had located her. Since Cat had been there on business, she’d left without another word.
But she wanted that word. She wanted a lot more.
She wanted to know how he was and what else he’d been doing that hadn’t been depicted in the local archives.
And she wanted to know if he ever thought about her.
She rounded a dune to where the once falling-down gazebo had been, and there in its place stood Brody. He wore cargo shorts and another fitted T-shirt, and had both hands tucked into his pockets. He was watching her.
“Evening, Cat.” His low words almost disappeared in the wind before she heard them. God, he looked good.
His hair was unkempt, a few dark tufts standing up as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and dark, precisely trimmed stubble covered his jaw. The whiskers made him seem daring and untamed.
It made him look wild. Like he knew exactly what to do with a woman these days. Not at all like the uncertain boy she’d known.
Of course, his vintage wayfarer glasses reminded her that behind all that strength and sinewy muscle was a brain. She’d once teased him about his IQ. He hadn’t registered as a genius, but she’d never met anyone as smart as him.
She took several steps toward him, meeting his gaze. “Brody,” she said, unsure what else to say.
His returning look reached inside her. It made her heart stop for just a second.
She blinked to break the connection and glanced away, back out at the sea. Her breath stuck in her throat, and she forced it out as normally as she could. It was growing dark around them, but she could still make out everything about him. At the same time, she wished the sun was around so it wouldn’t feel so secluded. She wasn’t sure being alone with Brody was a good idea when she’d done nothing but think about him for the last three days.
Even more than that, if she counted her reason for coming here.
“I saw you leave your house earlier,” he finally said. She felt him step closer. He didn’t touch her as they stood side by side, both facing the water.
“Yeah?” She plucked a petal off the blossom she carried. “I’ve been coming out for walks in the evenings.”
Trying to get up the courage to come here.
“I know. I’ve been watching you. You’ve quit sitting on the deck in the mornings.”
She glanced at him. A small smile lifted the edges of his mouth and she couldn’t help but linger on the curve. Yep, he knew she’d been out there watching him.
She sighed. At least he didn’t know about the binoculars.
“It’s good to see you again, Brody,” she finally said. Because it was. Really good.
He nodded. “I would have to agree. Though I must admit I’m not so sure what to say to you. I’d like to know how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to. But I’ve seen a lot of it in the news over the years.” He paused before saying sincerely, “I’m sorry about your husband.”
A knot formed in her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered.
She still missed Joe. He’d been a good man. A good husband. But she’d eventually had to force herself to move on. She wasn’t sure she could say she’d done the same thing with Brody, though. Before this week, she would have sworn she’d gotten over him years ago.
But since seeing him? She’d been obsessed. It was disturbing.
She buried her nose in the hydrangea bloom. It didn’t have a potent smell, but she liked the feel of the soft petals against her skin. It reminded her of lace.
The low sound of a boat horn sounded far off in the distance.
“So,” Brody said. He shuffled his feet in the sand. “How have you been?”
She laughed lightly and looked back at him. He was about six inches taller than she was; his head tilted down as he watched her, and he was giving her a crooked smile. He was comfortable to be around. She relaxed. “I’ve been good. Really. I’m in Atlanta running the family foundation, two kids, no pets—yet—and a mother who still drives me a little insane. But you probably—”
“Know all that,” he finished. “Yeah, I know the outer stuff. But how about you? Have you been good? Are you happy?”
Cat stared at him, trying to remember the last time someone had asked if she was happy. She was content, yes. And yeah, she was happy. She was a mother of two great kids. But that was the coating. And Brody was asking about the inside. The middle. He wanted to know if she was enjoying every moment of her life.
She nodded. Of course she was happy. But the words that came out s
urprised her. “I could stand to liven my life up a bit.”
He laughed, the sound catching her as off guard as her words had. It was rich and sexy, and rolled out of him in a way that had her leaning just a little closer. She wanted to live in that laugh.
“Well, you’ve just brightened mine up.” He chuckled some more. “Honesty. I always loved that about you.”
She gulped and looked down at the flower again. Maybe she had been honest—a long time ago. But if she were really honest now, she’d tell him they were standing in the spot where they’d once made a baby.
Instead, she held up the flower, ready to get out of there before the memories tempted her to do or say more than she was ready for. “Not complete honesty,” she said. “I stole this from the bush outside your deck.”
“I know.” He winked. “I watched you do it.”
Heat swept over her. She would have sworn he hadn’t been home when she’d snuck over to get the flower. Clearly her stalker skills needed some work.
He reached out and cupped the large bloom in his hand and her heart squeezed tight. “These were my grandmother’s favorite flowers,” he said. “Annabelle hydrangeas. She named my mother after them.”
It was hard to force enough air through her throat to speak. She nodded. “I remember.”
It was the reason she’d named their daughter Annabelle.
A look crossed Brody’s face as if he were shocked that she remembered something he’d once told her. She reached out her hand and touched his. It was warm. And she wondered what Patricia had changed Annabelle’s name to after the adoption. What name her daughter had died with.
“It was a great summer, Brody. I remember many things about it. I’m just sorry . . .”
“I am, too,” he replied when she couldn’t find the words to express all that she was sorry for. He studied her in the waning light, and she felt another chink form in her armor. She had no protection around him. Just like the first time, it simply felt right to be with him.
She took a small step back and looked away. Stooping, she placed the hydrangea on the sand behind them, trying to force herself to say good-bye to their daughter. But she found she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let go.
