He tucked a blanket gently around the boy and brushed his blond hair back from his forehead. “Sleep tight, tiger,” he whispered softly. “Uncle Rand is here if you need him.”
He padded quietly from the room and went into the study next to the master bedroom. At the large desk, he unrolled a plat map, secured it with paperweights and leaned over to study the areas outlined in red. The Bickerstaff property next to Archer Farm, over one thousand prime acres, and farther west, nearer town, Mauney’s dairy farm, with nine hundred acres, were his targeted goals.
The first time Rand had seen this map was a month ago in the inner sanctum of Charles Steinman’s office. Rand had answered his boss’s summons to find Steinman and another man pouring over the plat map, spread across his boat-sized desk.
“Rand,” Steinman had greeted him with fake heartiness, “meet Gus Farrington.”
Rand clasped Gus’s outstretched hand. “Of Farrington Properties?”
Farrington shot Steinman a pleased look, and Steinman all but burst his trademark red suspenders in a proud preen. “See, I told you he’d be up to speed.”
Farrington nodded. “I need someone sharp. That incompetent nitwit from Fitzhugh and Worth ruined my last deal.”
“How can I help?” Rand asked.
Farrington poked a finger at a red outline on the plat map. “Buy me this property.”
Rand looked from Farrington to Steinman. “That seems simple enough.”
Farrington sighed and dropped into a chair. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
Steinman waved Rand to a seat next to Farrington and settled behind his desk. “If we can deliver, Gus will switch his entire account to us.”
Rand nodded and managed to keep the glee from his expression. Farrington Properties was developing retirement villages with their own megamalls all over the country. Garnering their account would be a huge coup for the law firm and maybe earn Rand the senior partnership to which he aspired.
“Someone from Fitzhugh and Worth tried to buy this before?” Rand nodded toward the map.
Farrington uttered a disgusted sound. “Not this piece. We sent their representative down to Westminster, South Carolina, to look at two thousand acres that border Lake Tugaloo. There were several separate parcels we wanted him to acquire discreetly, but the bumbling idiot let the cat out of the bag. Before we knew it, we had the environmentalists and preservationists lined up against us on one side, and on the other, those willing to sell had jacked their prices so high that buying would have wiped out our profit margin.”
“So this—” Rand squinted at the map “—Pleasant Valley is your backup plan.”
Farrington nodded. “Every day, baby boomers are retiring by the thousands and moving south. This area of South Carolina is ripe for developing retirement communities, and the accompanying malls will bring jobs to the locals who’ve lost work in the textile industry to cheaper labor overseas.”
Farrington had seemed convinced his development would be good for the valley. And Brynn had admitted tonight that life was hard for farmers here. As a result, both Eileen Bickerstaff and Joe Mauney should be anxious to sell. If so, his job would be a piece of cake and over in a few weeks.
But the memory of Brynn’s expression when she talked about her tightly knit community raised warning flags in his mind. What if neither property owner accepted his offer?
And why now, after only a few hours with Brynn, did Rand feel sudden misgivings and even guilt about the job he’d come here to do?
Chapter Five
Brynn sank into the chair at the Hair Apparent for her scheduled Friday afternoon appointment. Amy Lou Baker floated a pink nylon cape over her shoulders and tied it around her neck. Standing behind her, Amy Lou spoke to Brynn’s reflection in the room-length mirror that ran above the counter with a deep sink and the combs, brushes and rollers of Amy Lou’s trade.
“Sugar, you have got hair to die for.” Amy Lou gently deconstructed Brynn’s French braid and ran her fingers like a comb through the thick strands. “If I could match and bottle this color, I’d make me enough money to live high on the hog.”
Brynn smiled at the woman who’d cut her hair her entire life. “Thank goodness it’s darkened since I was a kid. I hated being called Carrottop.”
“Nobody’s going to call you names now, unless it’s Hey, Good-Lookin’. Specially with that big gun you carry all the time.”
Amy Lou laughed with delight at her own joke, rotated Brynn’s chair and leaned her backward over the sink for a shampoo. The warm water and gentle massage of Amy Lou’s fingertips eased Brynn’s weary muscles, and the patter of the beautician’s constant chatter washed over her like the spray from the sink nozzle.
Brynn had fuzzy memories of first coming to the Hair Apparent with her mother, and, except for a few more lines in her face, Amy Lou hadn’t changed much in almost thirty years. Her hair was still the same extraordinary honey-blond, she still wore too much makeup, the same pink polyester uniforms and sensible white shoes, and she still talked non-stop from the time Brynn stepped through the door of the shop until her departure. But Amy Lou’s heart was as expansive as her teased hairdo, and she, like so many other women in town, including Sophie Nathan and Cat Stratton, Jodie’s and Merrilee’s mothers, had served as wonderful surrogate maternal figures in Brynn’s life.
Amy Lou shut off the taps, squeezed the excess moisture from Brynn’s hair and wrapped her head turban-style in a thick towel. With an expert flick of her wrist, she propped the chair upright and whirled Brynn until she once more faced the mirror.
“What’ll it be today, sugar? The usual?”
Brynn nodded.
Amy Lou’s aging face wrinkled in thought. “You sure? I can give you an upswept style with lots of dangly curls. Something real romantic.”
“Which my uniform cap would destroy the first time I put it on.”
“Pshaw,” Amy Lou said with a frown. “How’re you going to catch a man without baiting the trap?”
“The only men I need to catch,” Brynn said, “are those with warrants for their arrests. And I can assure you, they don’t give a rip about my hair.”
Amy Lou rubbed Brynn’s wet hair hard with the towel, as if to drive home her point. “You’re too busy taking care of everybody else, sugar. Checking on old folks like Mrs. Bickerstaff and Mrs. Weatherstone. You deliver their groceries and drive them to their doctors or here to have their hair done. And when you’re not doing that, you’re riding herd on those wild boys at Archer Farm. You need to take care of yourself.”
Brynn purposely misunderstood. “I do take care of myself. I watch my weight and get plenty of exercise and sleep.”
Like a terrier with a bone, Amy Lou was not about to be sidetracked. She picked up her comb and scissors and cut straight to the chase. “When’s the last time you were kissed, sugar?”
Night before last.
Just thinking about her evening with Rand turned her insides all warm and fluttery, the same sensation Brynn remembered from Christmas mornings as a child, waiting to see what Santa had left beneath the tree. But a simple buss on the cheek didn’t count as a real kiss. And since Amy Lou delivered better news coverage than the County Chronicle, Brynn wasn’t about to admit to her pseudokiss from the attractive lawyer.
The best defense was a good offense. “What about you, Amy Lou? It’s been seven years since Harold died. Ever thought about marrying again?”
Amy Lou’s eyes moistened. “When you’ve had the perfect husband, you can never find another man who’ll fill his shoes.”
Her declaration spoke volumes for the power of love. Harold Baker hadn’t been exactly Brynn’s idea of the consummate spouse. He had worked at Jay-Jay’s garage, and Brynn could still picture him, built like a brick outhouse with grease on his coveralls and under his fingernails, a man of few words, who drank too much. But he’d treated Amy Lou like a queen, and they’d been a model loving couple until cancer from the cigarettes he’d smoked since the
age of thirteen had claimed his life.
Amy Lou sniffed and cleared her throat. “I hear you’ve met the new owner of River Walk.”
Brynn wasn’t surprised. The Hair Apparent was Pleasant Valley’s communications central. Every tidbit of gossip concerning the town and valley either originated or was disseminated within the shop’s pale pink walls. “I met him at the hospital last week. His nephew was ill.”
“I heard he asked you out.”
Brynn closed her eyes. Of course the children in Mrs. Shepherd’s class had reported Rand’s request to speak with her privately to their mothers, who had drawn their own conclusions and who also all had their hair done by Amy Lou. Brynn, hoping to minimize the gossip, met Amy Lou’s gaze and said with all the nonchalance she could muster, “Mr. Benedict invited me to dinner to thank me for helping take his nephew to the hospital. And I wanted to see how little Jared was doing, so I took him a teddy bear out to River Walk.”
“This Mr. Benedict have a first name?”
“Rand, uh, Randall.”
“He single?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good-lookin’?”
Brynn pretended to take a moment to think. “Not bad.”
“Well, there you go.” Amy Lou lifted a strand of wet hair and whacked like a sartorial samurai. “Maybe you should get to know him. Have yourself some fun.”
“He won’t be here long. As soon as he’s spent some time getting better acquainted with his orphaned nephew, they’re going back to New York.”
“Men have been known to change their minds.” Amy Lou moved to Brynn’s other side and snipped some more.
“Wouldn’t matter if he did,” Brynn insisted. “Rand Benedict and I have absolutely nothing in common.”
Amy Lou’s eyes twinkled. “You’re a woman, he’s a man. What more do you need?”
“He’s a lawyer. And a Yankee.”
Amy Lou caught her gaze in the mirror and held it tight. “You give lip service to those pet peeves of yours, but, sugar, you can’t fool me. I know you’ve always judged folks by what’s in their hearts, not where they’re from or what they do, no matter how many jokes you tell.”
I’m busted, Brynn thought. Amy Lou knew her too well. “I have to complain about something.”
“Of course, sugar. Everybody does. With me, it’s my bunions. I should never have worn those pointy-toed shoes in the sixties.”
Brynn breathed a sigh of relief when Amy Lou changed the subject. The beautician could ramble on about her sore feet for hours.
But, breaking from habit, Amy Lou switched subject midstream. “I think you ought to give that Yankee lawyer a chance. He might turn out to be ‘a real good man.’” She sang the last few words in a parody of Tim McGraw, her favorite country vocalist, and performed a spirited two-step, despite her bunions.
“Doesn’t matter if he is a real good man. Rand Benedict and I are as different as night and day. If you meet him, you’ll know instantly what I mean.”
“Opposites attract, sugar,” Amy Lou said with a knowing grin. She set her scissors down and flipped the blow-dryer on high, effectively drowning out further protests.
Brynn closed her eyes again, afraid Amy Lou might read her thoughts. Rand was definitely her opposite and Brynn did find him enticingly attractive. And Amy Lou had a point about having fun. Brynn’s best friends, Merrilee and Jodie, were spending most of their free time with their husbands. And Brynn wasn’t interested in hooking up with a local man with serious intentions. If all she wanted was a spring fling, Rand, with his cultural, economic and regional differences and imminent departure, would be an interesting—and safe—diversion.
SATURDAY MORNING, Rand pulled the Jaguar to the curb in front of Brynn’s Arts and Crafts–style bungalow on tree-lined Mountain Street. Built around the 1920s, the house was one of the newer structures in the quiet neighborhood of mostly Victorian-style residences. Unlike the cheek-by-jowl buildings of newer developments throughout the country, these older homes were surrounded by sweeping green lawns, magnificent old trees and beds of colorful spring flowers. When the towering oaks and maples that lined the streets leafed out, they’d provide a shady canopy against the coming summer heat. And when the weather warmed, Rand expected the homeowners would be sitting on their wide front porches this time of day, enjoying their coffee and morning paper.
Unlike New York City streets at this hour, which would be jammed with wall-to-wall people, no one was in sight in the residential area. But vehicular and pedestrian traffic had filled Pleasant Valley’s main street a few minutes ago when Rand had passed through, and total strangers had lifted their hands in enthusiastic greetings and flashed him welcoming smiles as they went about their Saturday shopping.
Five minutes early for his ten o’clock rendezvous with Brynn, Rand rolled down the Jag’s window. Clean, crisp air, devoid of gasoline fumes, the stench of rotting garbage and other noxious city smells, filled the car and carried the lilting trill of a mockingbird. Rand glanced back at Jared in his car seat, who clutched the teddy bear Brynn had given him and smiled at the call of the bird.
“Pwetty,” his nephew said.
The boy’s smile was a rare gift, lifting Rand’s spirits. “It is, isn’t it?”
The knot of tension loosened in Rand’s gut. Until he’d come to this sleepy valley a few weeks ago, he hadn’t realized what a pressure cooker he’d lived in. He was on a too-fast treadmill in his high-powered job with every conversation aimed at placing him higher on the ladder of success, every minute tightly scheduled in his day planner.
Here he didn’t have to worry about keeping appointments or the impression he made. The people he’d met, from the doctors and nurses at the medical center to the clerks in the stores, appeared to accept him at face value. They showed no interest in what position he held or the money he’d made or what clubs he belonged to. Instead, they inquired whether he was comfortable in his new home and how Jared was doing, with no apparent ulterior motives other than genuine friendliness.
He could get used to these amiable neighbors and the blissful peacefulness. But he didn’t dare. He’d be headed back to New York, the sooner, the better, and, if he pulled off this deal, the senior partnership he coveted would finally be his.
That thought tightened his gut again, and he wished he hadn’t forgotten to bring along the antacids he’d been eating like candy for the past several years.
A screen door slammed, and he glanced up to see Brynn running down the walk. She moved with the easy, long-legged gait of an athlete, and her form-fitting jeans showed off the trim muscles of her thighs. A bulky pale blue sweater with the collar of a crisp white blouse peeking through at the neckline accented her sparkling dark blue eyes, and her hundred-watt smile made him catch his breath. Before he could move to open the door, she’d slid onto the front seat beside him.
“Hi,” she said to him, then turned to Jared. “Hey, Jared, and hey to you, too, Officer Friendly.”
For once, Jared didn’t hide his face but smiled at Brynn shyly.
“He hasn’t let go of that bear since you gave it to him,” Rand said. “It’s even had a bath.”
“Really?” Brynn looked to Jared. “You put him in the tub?”
Jared nodded solemnly. “Wif me.”
“Thank God for clothes dryers,” Rand said. “The bear is apparently indestructible.”
Brynn grinned at Jared, and the car seemed suddenly filled with sunshine. “That’s what friends are for, to go everywhere with you, right?”
“Wight,” the boy answered and smiled back.
The knot in Rand’s gut loosened another notch at the boy’s happy expression. Jared liked Brynn. Hell, Rand thought, I like Brynn. More than I’ve liked anyone in a long, long time. Today was going to be a good day.
“Nice house.” Rand nodded toward Brynn’s place. “Great architecture.”
“Thanks.” Her features softened with obvious affection for her home. “I grew up in that house.”
“You live alone?”
Brynn shook her head. “With my dad. He’s chief of police.”
“He working today?” Rand wondered if her not inviting him in to meet her father was a bad sign.
“He’s at an FBI seminar in Quantico. When he gets home, he can tell you all about River Walk’s history. He knew the original owners.”
“I’ll look forward to that.” Rand started the engine. “So how do we get to Archer Farm?”
“Straight ahead four blocks, then hang a left. That’ll put you back on Valley Road.”
“Do they know we’re coming?” Rand asked.
“I spoke with Jodie yesterday. Her husband Jeff is the farm’s administrator. They’re expecting us.”
Enjoying the attractive homes and gardens of the historic district, Rand drove slowly through the neighborhood, followed Brynn’s directions and turned onto the highway. As the Jaguar picked up speed, he glanced at Brynn. “Tell me about Archer Farm. Has it been here long?”
He knew the basic facts from his research but wanted to hear more about the people connected with the unusual project.
“Jeff Davidson grew up there,” Brynn said, “but the farm was little more than a rundown house and barn then. The only crop was illegal moonshine that Jeff’s father produced from a still up the mountain. Jeff’s mother died when he was a baby, and he had a rough life, raised by Hiram, who was mean when drunk and seldom sober. As a result, Jeff was a loner and a hell-raiser.”
“And this same Jeff is rehabilitating at-risk teenage boys?” Rand shook his head in amazement.
Brynn nodded. “As soon as Jeff was old enough, he left the valley and joined the Marines. The Corps became the family he’d never had, taught him discipline, gave him focus. Four of the staff members at Archer Farm are former Marines, too. Last spring, they helped Jeff build the boys’ dormitory and refurbish the house and barn.”
“So it’s too soon to tell if the project’s a success?”
“You can judge for yourself, but from my point of view, Jeff and his team have worked miracles.”
Spring in the Valley Page 6
