Determined not to draw conclusions before she had all the facts, Brynn leaned back in her chair and forced the tension from her muscles with a deeply drawn breath. “Trying to buy land’s not illegal, is it?”
“No, but this fellow’s approach was under-handed,” her father said. “According to Bud’s source, the man wasn’t open about what he was doing. Claimed to be looking for property for a home for himself. One of the locals got suspicious at the amount of land he wanted to accumulate, did some snooping and discovered the guy worked for Farrington, who builds huge retirement villages with adjacent megamalls. Turned out the attorney didn’t want the property for himself, but for Farrington to develop.”
Bud nodded with a grimace. “They say one lawyer with a briefcase can steal more than a hundred men with guns.”
Brynn looked at her uncle in surprise. “I never thought I’d hear you quoting Don Corleone.”
“You taught me that Godfather quote,” Bud said. “It’s the only one of your many cracks about lawyers that I remember.”
A sinking sensation drifted down into Brynn’s stomach. “What’s this Westminster problem have to do with Rand?”
“When the folks there got wind of Farrington’s intentions,” Bud said, “it quashed the deals. Farrington decided to look elsewhere to build his retirement village in the Upstate.”
“You don’t mean here, in Pleasant Valley?” She winced at the prospect of development blighting the valley’s beauty.
“Just think what thousands of acres of retirement homes would do to the rural life we enjoy so much,” her father said.
Brynn turned to her uncle. “But you’re always saying more people are better for business.”
Bud shook his head. “Not that many people. They’d clog the roads with traffic, create air pollution with their cars. And a megamall with national chains could offer lower prices and put the local merchants out of business.”
“What makes you think Rand’s a part of this?” He couldn’t be, Brynn thought, not the Rand who seemed to appreciate the valley so much. Not the Rand she’d come to love.
Bud threw her a sympathetic look. “I went online after the conference. Did a Google search for Farrington Properties. I found out the company fired the law firm that botched the Westminster acquisitions.”
“Rand’s firm?” Uneasiness sat heavy in her stomach like an undigested meal. The inconsistencies about Rand’s presence in the valley that she’d shoved to the back of her mind returned in a rush.
Buying a house far too big for two, a trout-fishing paradise even though he didn’t like to fish. A workaholic on sabbatical. His many questions about the Bickerstaff and Mauney farms.
Uncle Bud shook his head. “After failing in Westminster, Farrington fired his old law firm and engaged new representation with Steinman, Slagle and Crump in Manhattan. And guess who’s listed in their registry?”
“Randall Benedict, Esquire,” her father said.
“It must be coincidence,” Brynn insisted. The alternative sickened her.
“I don’t think so,” her dad said grimly. “Your years in law enforcement have taught you not to think so, either. Coincidences are rarer than hen’s teeth.”
“You want me to talk to him?” Brynn looked from her father to Bud and back again. “I’ll just ask him flat out if he’s here to buy property for Farrington.”
“Would he tell you the truth if he is?” her father said with a gentleness that suggested he’d guessed her feelings for Rand.
Confusion smothered her like a blanket. If Rand wasn’t Farrington’s point man, he’d say so. But if he was? Would he tell her the truth after keeping it from her all this time? And if he was in the valley just to buy property, had his interest in her been merely part of his cover, along with buying River Walk and using Jared’s health as an excuse for coming to this particular place? Had she been just a diversion to pass the time while he waited to close his deal?
She slumped in her chair. “What do you want me to do?”
“Take a vacation,” her father said unexpectedly. “What?”
“I’ll bring Sid Peeler out of retirement to cover your shifts. I want you to spend every available minute with this Benedict, see if you can dig out what he’s up to.”
“If he’s here to buy property for Farrington,” Bud said, “we need to find out if he’s had any success. And we should get out the word, alert people to the consequences to the entire community if we let that developer get a foothold in the valley.”
The hope Brynn had felt earlier in the day shattered, and its loss left a bitter taste in her mouth. How could she spend time with Rand as if nothing had changed, when everything had?
“Think about it.” Uncle Bud headed for the door. “You’ve spent more time with Benedict than the rest of us. Maybe he’ll trust you with his secrets. I’d better head home. Marion wants to attend the early worship service tomorrow.”
Lost in dark and dreary thoughts, Brynn was barely aware of her uncle’s departure or her father’s presence. She jumped, startled, when her dad sat on the arm of her chair and put his arm around her.
“Want to tell me about it?” he asked.
“About what?”
“From the look on your face, I think you’ve grown to care quite a bit about this Benedict fellow.”
She leaned against her father’s broad shoulders. Her entire life he had been her bulwark, a steady comforting influence whenever she was troubled or unhappy. He’d always listened to her problems without judgment or criticism. His faithful quiet presence had spoken volumes of his love and acceptance. She had lost her mother too soon, but her father, with his calm strength and tender understanding, had done all a man could do to fill that void.
“I thought I was in love with him, Daddy.” Uncertainty gripped her. “But if you and Uncle Bud are right, how can I care for someone I don’t really know?”
“Don’t you think you’d better find out the truth? Not only for the sake of our friends in the valley, but for your own peace of mind?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to be around him. Everything’s changed now. And I’m not very good at pretending it hasn’t.”
Her father squeezed her shoulders. “Then don’t pretend. Just be yourself. And remember that everything happens for a reason.”
Brynn pushed to her feet, kissed her father good-night and climbed the stairs to her room. She’d met Rand for a purpose. Of that she was absolutely sure. But whether that purpose was to fall in love or merely to expose his schemes, she had yet to determine.
BIRDS SANG in the dogwood trees outside her bedroom window early the next morning, and, although she’d had only a few hours sleep, Brynn was instantly alert—prodded to immediate wakefulness by memories of last night’s disturbing discussion with her father and uncle.
Through the window that overlooked the backyard, she could see her father puttering in the garden, the knees of his jeans damp with early morning dew. He selected a plant from a flat of pansies at his side, dug a hole with his trowel and tucked the seedling along the border in front of the candy-stripe tulips whose flowers were beginning to fade.
According to Aunt Marion, Brynn’s best source of information on her mother, flowers had always been her mother’s passion. Her father rarely spoke of his late wife, seeming to find it difficult. But actions sometimes spoke louder than words. After her mother’s death, Hunt had taken over the care of the rose garden, the azaleas and perennial beds a silent but ongoing tribute to the memory of his wife. After a respectful period of mourning had passed, Aunt Marion had tried to hook her brother-in-law up with other women, but Hunt Sawyer had shook his head and declined all offers.
“No one could replace your mother. And besides, I like my solitude.” He spent his spare time tending his wife’s flowers with the same love and devotion he’d once given her and seemed happiest alone in the garden with his memories.
The ring of the telephone on her bedside table drew Brynn’s attention from
her father in the garden. Hoping it wasn’t a call that would require either of them to work on Sunday, Brynn answered.
“Good morning.” The rich, deep tones of Rand’s voice caressed her ear and sent a buzz of awareness along her nerves like a low-voltage shock. She remembered the heat that curled in her stomach at his smile, the tantalizing depths of his brown eyes, the intoxicating taste of his kiss, the sensuous magic of his hands…and the nasty suspicions her father and uncle had raised.
“Hello.” Distrust poured through her, destroying the comfort she’d felt with Rand before Uncle Bud’s revelations. “You’re up early.”
“It’s a beautiful day. Want to drive into the mountains and have lunch with me?”
She had to bite back an instant no. For her own sake, if no one else’s, she had to find where she stood with Rand. She’d given him her heart, her body, her trust. One of the talents that made her a good cop was her instincts. She had to prove to herself whether those instincts had failed her in judging Rand’s character. If he was here to cause trouble, she had to expose him. And if he wasn’t in the valley under false pretenses, her sense of fair play insisted that she clear his name.
“Hello? You still there?”
“I’d love a drive in the mountains,” she answered quickly and hoped her voice held the appropriate enthusiasm.
“I’ll pick you up—”
“No need to drive into town and double back. I can meet you at River Walk.”
“You’re sure? I don’t mind—”
“It will give me a chance to see Jared.” And maybe to snoop around.
“The inn I have in mind is a couple hours away. Will ten thirty be too early?”
Brynn glanced at the clock. She’d have just enough time to shower and dress. “I’ll see you then.”
EXACTLY ON TIME, Brynn rang the bell at River Walk. Lillian answered the door with Jared and a boisterous Snickers at her heels. Brynn knelt to greet the boy and his dog. One hugged her. The other bathed her face with sloppy kisses. She returned the boy’s hug with a fierce embrace, knowing she’d grown too fond of him, and that losing him would hurt as much as losing Rand.
“Mr. Benedict will be with you in a few moments,” Lillian said. “He’s checking an electrical problem in the guest house.”
Brynn released Jared, gazed up at the housekeeper and raised her eyebrows. “I thought he wasn’t much of a handyman.”
“Even an attorney should be able to sort out a tripped circuit,” Lillian answered with a twinkle in her green eyes.
“Bwynn.” Jared tugged her to her feet. “Come see my car.”
Brynn looked to Lillian. “Do I have time?”
Lillian nodded. “Mr. Benedict moved it upstairs to Jared’s room. He’s been a very good boy about putting away his toys in such an unusual toy box.”
With Jared’s chubby hand in hers and Snickers dogging their steps, Brynn climbed to the second floor and tried not to think of the last time she’d ascended those stairs, cradled in Rand’s arms.
The boy led her to the doorway of his room. Tucked beneath the windows that overlooked the river stood the racer Lucas had built, its bright red paint shining in the morning sun. Spotting the car, Jared dropped her hand, rushed to the toy chest and began tossing toys out of the driver’s seat onto the floor as if he’d forgotten she was there.
Brynn pivoted and glanced into the open doorway behind her. Rand’s study. The surface of his huge desk was uncluttered except for a telephone, a bronze statue of an eagle and a large roll of paper. Her stomach knotted in anxiety, but her course was clear.
Moving quickly, Brynn entered the study, grabbed the paper and unrolled it onto the desk’s broad surface. She recognized instantly the contours and roads of Pleasant Valley. And the Mauney and Bickerstaff properties were outlined on the map in red.
Uncle Bud had been right, she thought with a sinking heart and a sick feeling in her stomach. Rand had come to the valley to buy property and, while that goal in itself wasn’t a crime, the sneaky, underhanded way he’d gone about it was exactly what Brynn would expect from a lawyer—a Yankee lawyer. So much for Rand’s changing her attitude toward his profession. Instead, his deception had validated all her prejudices.
And broken her heart.
At the sound of a door closing downstairs, she rolled up the map and hurried from the study into Jared’s room. Rand found her there seconds later, kneeling on the floor beside Jared in his racer. Her heart was thudding in her ears, and her face burned with shame, both at her snooping and her gullibility.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, his voice cheerful, his expression warm and welcoming. Too welcoming. She exerted all her self-control to keep from throwing herself into his arms and begging him to tell her she’d misunderstood the evidence on his desk.
Instead, she forced her lips to smile. “No problem.
Jared and I have been having fun. Right, Jared?”
Jared, tiny hands gripping the steering wheel, his thoughts obviously on some imaginary racetrack, nodded distractedly.
“We’d better get started then.” Rand held out his hand.
Brynn grasped it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She silently cursed the tingle of awareness that coursed through her veins. Apparently her traitorous body hadn’t caught up with her mind’s assessment of Rand.
Unaware of her turmoil, he squeezed her hand. “It’s a perfect day for a drive.”
He tucked her arm through his, walked with her down the stairs and out the wide front entrance, and opened the door of the Jaguar for her to climb in before sliding behind the wheel.
“Where exactly are we going?” Brynn asked, surprised by the steadiness of her voice when her thoughts and emotions were roiling in chaos. “Asheville?”
Rand started the engine and headed the car toward the highway. “Not that far. The Balsam Mountain Inn is this side of Waynesville. Lillian read about it in Southern Living while she was having her hair done in town. Ever been to the inn?”
Brynn shook her head and wished Rand didn’t look so irresistible in expensive black slacks and a dove-gray sweater that molded the enticing contours of his chest. If he had any qualms about his schemes for the valley, they didn’t show in his demeanor. He acted like a man at peace with the world.
“I really like Grant and Merrilee,” he commented as they passed the entrance to the Nathans’ driveway. “And Snickers couldn’t be more perfect for Jared. Grant knows his animals.”
“The puppy has certainly lifted Jared’s spirits. He laughs a lot more now.” Thinking of Jared doubled Brynn’s sense of loss and made her realize how she’d already begun to think of Rand and Jared as her family, a future that definitely wasn’t going to happen after her discovery in Rand’s study.
They rode in silence, the familiar landscape of the valley streaming past her window, until they reached Blackberry Farm.
“Next time we head for the hills,” Rand said, “we’ll invite Eileen. She’s a remarkable woman, but she doesn’t get out often enough.”
Painfully aware there wouldn’t be a next time, Brynn faked another smile. “Eileen would like that. Although she lives alone, she enjoys other people’s company.”
“I hadn’t realized her property is so extensive,” Rand said casually. The man apparently had no conscience, because Brynn could detect no guilt in his tone. “She told me there are two other houses on it, in addition to the main house.”
Brynn stifled a groan. Drawing up Eileen’s will had given Rand the perfect opportunity to pry. “Eileen used to hire workers who lived on the farm, but that was years ago. The houses are probably in shambles now.”
Not that Rand would care. She struggled to keep her disgust from showing. Farrington Properties would scrape the acreage bare, bulldozing every structure and tree to build the retirement village.
“Eileen said she’d had the houses inspected recently,” Rand added. “They need a few repairs and upgrades, but they’re built well and should l
ast a long, long time.”
“She had them inspected?” That was news to Brynn. “Is she planning to rent them again?”
Rand shrugged. “She didn’t say.”
Or maybe the so-called inspection had been a fair market appraisal, Brynn thought, in preparation for a sale. She’d been blunt with Rand before, so she’d try that tack again. “Eileen isn’t selling them, is she?”
“No, but I can’t say more without violating attorney-client privilege.” He cast her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
Brynn’s thoughts whirled in useless circles. All the evidence against Rand so far was circumstantial, even his own comments. Was his obvious affection for Eileen the result of true appreciation of the remarkable old woman or simply gratitude that she’d agreed to sell him her farm? Brynn intended to find out. So far, she just hadn’t figured out how.
RAND CAST A GLANCE at Brynn before returning his gaze to the road. As much as he wanted to feast his eyes on the lovely woman beside him, the narrow, twisting mountain curves demanded his attention. He had passed the turnoff to Archer Farm over ten minutes ago, and he shifted into a lower gear to ease the Jaguar’s ascension of the steep grade. At the top, he pulled into a scenic overlook and stopped the car.
“I’ve never viewed the valley from this angle,” he said.
Brynn flashed him a brittle smile, a look that threatened to break into a million tiny pieces, and stepped from the car. She stood at the waist-high stone wall of the overlook with the updraft from the sheer cliff below lifting her glorious hair off the slender column of her neck and molding the delicate fabric of her dress to her body.
Rand recalled vividly every curve, every line of her, and heat pooled in his groin at the memory. The night of their lovemaking she’d been open, relaxed. Happy. But this morning something was wrong. Although her words were warm and her lips curved often into a delectable smile, the warmth never reached her eyes. She was closed off, tense and withdrawn beneath her pleasant facade.
Spring in the Valley Page 13
