Brynn stared thoughtfully into her glass, then raised her gaze to his. She wore her shoulder-length hair, a soft cloud of auburn, loose around her face. God, she was a gorgeous woman, but didn’t seem aware of that beauty at all.
“Why not Arizona?” she asked, “or Montana? I hear both those climates are healthy.”
“Why are you so curious?” he asked with a laugh. “Do you work part-time for the Pleasant Valley chamber of commerce?”
“No,” she admitted with a curve of her lips that formed an enticing dimple in her left cheek. “But Uncle Bud is president of the chamber. He’s always interested in why people move to our area. Probably because newcomers are so rare. There’re not many job opportunities here. A lot of our young people move away to find work.”
Rand cast about for an explanation that would give nothing away. “When I was surfing the real estate sites on the Web, looking for country properties, I was struck by pictures of River Walk.” That much, at least, was true. “Once I saw the place, I had to have it.”
“You bought it without seeing it in person?”
“Had a virtual tour,” Rand said hastily. “Almost as good as the real thing.”
Brynn shook her head. “For all you knew, there could have been a factory spewing smoke on your back property line and a major highway outside your front door.”
“I had a good real estate agent. He knew exactly what I wanted and made certain that River Walk fit the bill.”
The conversation was veering dangerously close to topics Rand couldn’t discuss. Luckily, Lillian chose that moment to announce dinner.
He pushed to his feet, held out a hand to Brynn and tugged her beside him. Surprised when she didn’t pull away, he kept her hand in his all the way to the dining room until he pulled out her chair at a corner of the table, hewn from a massive four-foot-wide log from a tree that Rand had no hope of identifying.
He took a seat at the head of the table, and Lillian brought their plates from the kitchen. She placed an open bottle of Chardonnay at his elbow. “Anything else you’ll be needing?” she asked.
Rand shook his head. “Everything’s perfect. We can take care of ourselves, Lillian. Go put your feet up. You’ve had a long day.”
“Good night, then.”
“Good night, Lillian, and thank you,” Brynn said.
Lillian left through the door to the kitchen. As Rand poured wine in Brynn’s glass, he heard the back door close.
“She seems like a nice lady,” Brynn observed.
“Lillian’s a lifesaver. She was nanny to both Patrick and me, and she’s come out of retirement to take care of Jared.”
“A good cook, too.” Brynn savored a bite of salmon in dill sauce that Lillian had served with steamed asparagus and russet potatoes.
“So,” Rand said, “tell me about Pleasant Valley.” He’d done his homework and studied the area thoroughly but wanted to enjoy Brynn’s voice, as melodic and soothing as the sound of the river tumbling over the rocks below. In addition, the less he talked, the less likely he was to say more than he intended.
“Not much to tell,” she responded with a shrug of her very pretty shoulders. “Nothing much ever happens here, although we did almost lose downtown when the river flooded last summer.” She must have noted the concern in his eyes, because she added hastily, “But River Walk was never in any danger. The lowest deck was underwater for a day or so, but the house itself sits well above the flood plain.”
“So my real estate agent assured me. Have you lived here all your life?”
Brynn nodded. “Most families in the valley have been here for generations.” Her face glowed with enthusiasm, deepening the apricot color in her cheeks as she warmed to her topic. “Our ancestors fought alongside the Over Mountain Men, who passed through the valley on their way from Tennessee, in the Revolutionary War battles of King’s Mountain and Cowpens.”
“And in the Civil War?”
Her smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. “You mean the War of Northern Aggression? My great-grandmother always insisted there was nothing civil about that war.”
Best to avoid that conflict altogether, he decided. “What about the valley today? How would you describe it?”
She thought for a moment. “Rural, agricultural. Mostly small family farms where folks work hard to eke out a living.”
“And the town?”
“A close-knit community. Take last summer’s flood, for instance. Everybody young and old turned out to fill sandbags to hold back the river from the shops on the main street. The town population is small, mostly business owners, teachers, the staff at the medical center.”
“No theaters? Restaurants?” Not that he was accustomed to night life—he was usually working—but with his present assignment, Rand anticipated time on his hands.
“Jodie’s Café is open for breakfast and lunch,” Brynn explained. “And Ridge’s place on the Carsons Corner highway has the best barbecue in the Upstate. And a jukebox. Do you like country music?”
Music.
The word triggered a childhood memory of Patrick and him, stiff and uncomfortable in their best clothes, sitting on rigid straight chairs with their feet dangling above the floor while a string quartet from Julliard played Bach in the conservatory of his parents’ estate in the Hamptons. He’d endured dozens of such performances, causing him to associate music with discomfort, boredom and an overwhelming desire to be elsewhere.
“I’m not much of a music fan,” he admitted.
“Really?” She leaned her head to one side and studied him closely. “Let me guess.”
“What?”
“What you do for fun.”
Fun? He couldn’t tear his gaze from her full lips or keep himself from thinking how enjoyable kissing them would be. Now that would be fun. “I’m a workaholic.”
“So even when you play, it’s work,” Brynn said with an accuracy that stunned him. If she read him so well, he’d have to be very, very careful.
“I’ll bet you’re ruthless on the tennis court,” she continued. “Or is it handball?”
“Handball,” he admitted. “And I do play to win.”
“Ever fished?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Never could see the point.”
She laughed and the sound reminded him again of the river singing over stones below the house. “There is no point.”
He stared at her, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I don’t understand.”
“Fishing is a wonderful excuse to be outdoors, enjoy nature and do absolutely nothing. Doesn’t matter if you catch anything.” Her expression was teasing. “You should try it. River Walk’s the perfect spot.”
“If you’ll join me.”
She shook her head. “You miss the best part if you don’t fish alone.”
“How so?”
“All alone, just you, the outdoors, the river and your thoughts. You get to know yourself better.”
Rand shook his head. The prospect of being alone with his thoughts made him uncomfortable. He’d rather be buried in work, so he didn’t have time to think.
“Forget fishing, then,” Brynn said. “But you said last week, you’re on sabbatical. You have to do something. Do you plan to remodel River Walk?”
“I might make a few changes. Do you know a good contractor?”
“You’re not doing it yourself?”
“Can’t tell one end of a hammer from another,” Rand confessed.
“Too bad.” Brynn gave an exaggerated sigh.
“Why?”
Her eyes sparked with mischief. “Men in tool belts are very sexy.”
“Hmmm, let’s see if I have this straight. You think a guy with a tool belt, sweat-stained undershirt, beer gut, chewing a cigar—”
“Stop, please.” Brynn feigned dismay. “You’ve just ruined one of my best fantasies.”
“Sorry.” He raised his eyebrows in a leer. “But I’d love to hear the rest of them.”
She shook h
er head. “A girl has to have some secrets.”
Surprisingly, he found himself wishing he knew what Brynn’s secrets were. For too long, he’d viewed the women he’d spent time with as means to an end, either to enhance his social image, a source of useful information or a pleasant but meaningless roll in the hay. Brynn was different. He wanted to know about her, simply for the sheer pleasure of her company.
He cleared their plates and brought in coffee and slices of the cake Lillian had baked for dessert.
Unlike so many model-thin women he’d escorted in New York, Brynn didn’t pick at her dessert, but enjoyed every bite. When she finished, she picked up her coffee cup and shot him a glance over its rim. “Do you like to read?”
“Read?”
“Mysteries, science fiction, action/adventure thrillers?”
“Law books are my only reading.”
She shook her head. “Unless you set up a satellite office here, you’re in for a very dull time in Pleasant Valley.”
Satellite office hit too close to home. Affecting nonchalance, he took the opening she’d offered. “I like to explore.”
“Not much to explore here.”
“Maybe not for you. You know this entire area like the back of your hand. But it’s all new to me.”
“You’re serious?” Her expression was dubious.
“I’ve spent most of my life in an office,” he said, warming to his subject and his subterfuge, “and I’m looking forward to spending time outdoors. If you had a friend arrive who’d never seen the valley, where’s the first place you’d take him?”
“Archer Farm,” she replied instantly.
He clamped his jaws to keep from blurting his astonishment. A rehabilitation center for juvenile delinquents was first on her sightseeing list? Strange choice. “What’s so special about Archer Farm?” he asked, pretending ignorance.
“It’s a special place with special people. Jeff Davidson has turned his old homestead into a haven where teenage boys at risk of being sent to prison have a chance to turn their lives around.”
“By farming?” He didn’t have to pretend this time. Rand’s doubt that such a scheme could work was entirely genuine.
“The boys do much more than farm,” Brynn said. “But you’ll need to see for yourself to understand.”
“I’d like that. Will you take me there?”
Brynn thought for a moment. “If we take Jared, too.”
Rand hesitated. “All those strange boys might frighten him.”
“You don’t have to worry. They’re good kids.” Her enthusiasm was unmistakable, from the light in her eyes to her eager smile.
He lifted one eyebrow skeptically. “Good kids with rap sheets?”
“The staff at the farm brings out the best in the boys,” Brynn insisted. “Besides, Jared will love seeing the new chicks and ducklings. I’ve never met a child yet who can resist baby animals.”
Rand couldn’t figure Brynn out. Most women he’d encountered showed intense interest in his wealth and status, but Brynn appeared totally unimpressed. Aside from wondering how a New York attorney would pass his time in this Southern backwater town, her only concern was for Jared. Accustomed to women practically throwing themselves at his feet, Rand found Brynn a refreshing change. The fact that she was also his entry ticket into the tightly knit community was an added plus.
“You’re right.” he said. “An outing will be good for Jared. When do we go?”
“Saturday’s my next day off.”
“Ten o’clock?” Rand asked. “Jared and I will pick you up. Now, let me show you the rest of the place.”
BRYNN STOOD on River Walk’s lower deck and filled her lungs with the crisp, cool night air. Underneath the planking, the rushing waters of the river churned and splashed over massive boulders. Above, a sliver of silver moon hung in the cloudless sky. Behind her, River Walk rose like a mountain lodge featured in a travel brochure, its low-voltage lights emphasizing the rustic gabled architecture and the blue spruce, Japanese maples and redbud trees, bursting with delicate lavender blossoms, that accented the meticulously groomed landscape.
Beside her, Rand leaned his elbows on the deck railing and stared into the river. A light breeze swirled around them, teasing her with the scent of his leather jacket, the clean fresh scent of soap and his unmistakable and entirely pleasant aura of masculinity. A movie director couldn’t have set a more romantic scene with the moon above, the river below and one very handsome leading man beside her.
The only thing out of place was Brynn.
She felt strange in such a romantic scenario. It was time she started acting and thinking like a cop. She’d come to River Walk to solve a puzzle, and, while she’d found answers to her initial questions, she’d discovered Rand Benedict more a mystery than ever. He’d purchased a place on a river, famous for trout fishing, but he didn’t like to fish. He apparently had no interests other than work, but he was taking a sabbatical. And beneath his confident exterior, she glimpsed a loneliness as deep as little Jared’s. She was adding two and two and only coming up with three. What had she missed?
“Where are Jared grandparents?” she asked.
Rand grinned in the moonlight. “Back to being blunt, are we?”
She shrugged. “A single uncle doesn’t usually end up as his nephew’s guardian, not when there’re women in the family.”
“My parents live in Paris—”
“France?”
He nodded. “Father worked there in international banking. They liked the city so much, they retired there. And Jared’s a handful for people my parents’ age.”
“What about Jared’s maternal grandmother?”
Rand frowned. “Joan’s father has Alzheimer’s, and her mother already has more than she can handle.”
“So it’s Uncle Rand to the rescue?”
He turned and leaned against the railing to face her. “I admit, I’m in totally over my head. I can safeguard Jared’s legal interests, but I’m clueless where raising children is concerned. Thank God for Lillian. I need all the help I can get.”
Moonlight reflected in his deep brown eyes, reminding her of silver wrappers on chocolate Kisses.
“I can only sympathize,” she admitted. “I haven’t had much experience myself.”
“Are you kidding? You’re the first stranger Jared’s responded to without hysterical screams. And I watched you in action with that third grade class. You’re a natural around children.”
She shook her head, pleased at his compliment but aware of her lack of expertise. “If you want advice about children, you should ask Jodie when we visit Archer Farm. She raised Brittany alone for fourteen years before she married Jeff Davidson.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Brynn reconsidered her advice. Ever since Brittany had hit puberty, she’d been hell on wheels, often driving her mother to tears of frustration. “Or better yet, you can talk to Gofer.”
Rand looked surprised. “Gopher, as in animal?”
Brynn laughed and shook her head. “Jack Hager’s favorite expression is ‘go for broke,’ so his friends call him Gofer. He’s the resident psychologist at Archer Farm.”
“I may need a shrink to get through this,” Rand said, but only partially in jest. “And friends.”
The appeal in his voice touched her. And Brynn didn’t want to be affected. Certainly not by a man with whom she had absolutely nothing in common. Yes, he was drop-dead good-looking, but her daddy had taught her long ago that beauty was only skin deep. She knew nothing else about Rand except that he was a New York lawyer who would return north as soon as he’d bonded with his orphaned nephew. Neither of those facts boded well for anything other than the most casual friendship. She’d agreed to show him Archer Farm, partly because she enjoyed his company, but mainly for Jared’s sake. After that, the Yankee stranger was on his own.
“I have to go,” she said. “I have an early shift in the morning.”
Without another comment, Rand walke
d with her to her car and opened the door for her.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said.
“Where do you live?”
“Why?” Lordy, she hoped he wasn’t going to keep following her.
“If I’m picking you up Saturday, I have to know where.”
The man had her so flustered, she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion and forgotten she hadn’t given directions. “211 Mountain Street. It runs parallel to Piedmont Avenue one block north.”
“I’ll see you Saturday at ten.” He leaned down and brushed her cheek with his lips. “Thank-you again, Brynn, for all your help.”
Shaken by the unexpected gesture, she climbed into the driver’s seat, closed the door and circled the driveway toward the road. Her face burned where his lips had touched her, and she was all too aware of Rand’s silhouette, clearly visible in her rearview mirror, as he watched her depart.
RAND WAITED until the taillights of Brynn’s SUV disappeared around a curve in the drive before entering the house. Switching off lights as he went, he mounted the stairs to the second floor. At the door to Jared’s room, he paused. A faint night-light illuminated the sleeping child, who hugged his new teddy bear in his sleep.
Patrick’s voice from the night Jared was born rang in Rand’s memory. “My son won’t be raised like we were,” his brother had declared.
“Rich and spoiled?” Rand had said with a grin.
“You know what I mean. Mother and Father never paid any attention to us, except when Lillian dressed us up and dragged us out for inspection when company came. Jared’s going to spend lots of time with his mom and dad and know that they love him.”
A knot formed in Rand’s throat. He’d spent too little time with his brother, especially during the past fifteen years, and now those opportunities were gone for good. And Patrick was forever unable to fulfill his vow to his son.
I’ll do my best, Patrick, but I’m a sorry substitute for you.
Rand stepped into the room and approached the bed. Jared’s breathing was easy, thank God, and he wasn’t whimpering in his sleep, as he’d done so often since his parents had died. Rand experienced an unfamiliar tightness in his chest as he watched the sleeping child.
Spring in the Valley Page 5
