“You’ve had a tough week.” His voice caressed her, and his eyes lighted with a tender smile. “I thought you needed the rest.”
Sitting up straighter, she adjusted her shirt and cursed the fact that for what might be the most important conversation in her life, she was dressed in old jeans and a grass-stained T-shirt she’d donned to work in the yard with her dad.
“You’ve been busy, too, I hear.” She resisted the impulse to finger-comb her hair. “Mrs. Bickerstaff told me how you cleaned up the mess Skeeter Welch and his crony made of her house that night.”
“Eileen refused to stay overnight at the hospital for observation. And she wouldn’t come to River Walk. All she wanted was to go home.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t let her go back to that chaos.”
Her heart hammered against her rib cage. She couldn’t believe they were sitting in her own backyard having a perfectly ordinary conversation, when all she craved was to throw her arms around Rand and beg him to forgive her for having been so judgmental. But the last thing she wanted was to scare him away before she apologized properly, so she clasped her hands in her lap and waited for the right opportunity.
“I spoke with Eileen a few days ago,” Brynn said, surprised her voice sounded normal when her pulse was pounding like a heavy metal band’s drummer on speed. “She seems fully recovered.”
Rand nodded and leaned back in his chair. For several minutes they said nothing. Enjoying the silence like an old married couple, she thought, pleased with the comparison. The outdoor sounds swirled around them with the breeze, a peaceful counterpoint to Brynn’s inner turmoil.
“I was going—” she began.
“I wanted—” he said at the same time.
They both stopped speaking.
“You first,” Rand said with a nod.
“I was planning to come see you later this afternoon,” she said.
“Official business?”
She shook her head, then corrected herself. “Well, partly. I wanted to let you know that we’ve caught Skeeter Welch and Jay Kraft. But I suppose the valley gossips have filled you in on their arrest by now.”
He leaned toward her and clasped his hands between his knees. A dozen memories and as many fantasies about those marvelous hands flitted through her mind, and she struggled to concentrate on his words. “You know how gossip is,” he said. “Tell me what really happened.”
Brynn relaxed slightly. She was on safer ground talking about her work. “On the tip from Brittany about the earring, Lucas and I drove to Skeeter Welch’s house near Carsons Corner. Skeeter answered the door, wearing the matching skull earring in his left ear. We asked if we could come in and talk to him.”
“He let you in?” Rand looked surprised.
“Skeeter’s not the brightest bulb in the chandelier,” Brynn said. “And his even dimmer sidekick, Jay, was sitting in the living room, drinking beer. Eileen’s computer was sitting on the dining room table in plain view.”
Rand raised his eyebrows. “How did you know it was hers?”
“It still had her password taped to the front in large letters. I used to warn her about displaying it, but she insisted having it there saved her time from trying to remember it.”
“And that was it? Case closed?”
Brynn grinned. “We arrested Dumb and Dumber and headed back to the station. Halfway into town, Skeeter was sobbing his eyes out, wanting to cut a deal.” She hesitated, knowing she was back on dangerous ground.
“What kind of deal?”
“Said he’d give us the name of the guy who’d hired them to scare Mrs. Bickerstaff if we’d cut them some slack.”
“But the name the man gave Skeeter was fake,” Rand said.
Brynn jerked her head up in astonishment. “How did you know?”
“Because I’ve been doing some investigating on my own.” He reached into the pocket of his slacks, withdrew a paper and handed it to her.
She unfolded it and saw immediately the gold-embossed letterhead of Steinman, Slagle and Crump. After scanning the contents quickly, she gazed at Rand in disbelief. “You found him?”
“Not me personally,” Rand said with a self-deprecating look. “But Charles Steinman has the best in-house team of private investigators in New York. When I informed him that Gus Farrington might be using strong-arm tactics to force land sales, Steinman put his P.I.s to work. It didn’t take them long to track down Farrington’s henchman. He’s cooling his heels in a New York jail now, awaiting extradition, if you want him.”
Brynn remembered the bruise on Mrs. Bicker-staff’s cheek and the shambles the intruders had made of the old woman’s house. “I want him, all right.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Rand said.
“And Farrington?”
“Steinman will bring down the full force of the law on Farrington.” Rand looked so fierce, Brynn shivered. She never wanted to see him that angry at her. Then his expression softened. “Charles is competitive, even cutthroat when it comes to business, but he’s not dishonest. He’s as outraged and disgusted about Farrington’s tactics as we are.”
Brynn summoned her courage, took a deep breath and plunged. “That brings me to the other reason I was coming to see you. I want to apologize.”
He shook his head. “You don’t owe me an apology.”
“But I do. I assumed that you’d come to the valley to buy land secretly—”
“I did,” Rand said bluntly.
“But you didn’t go through with it,” she insisted.
He took her hands in his and met her gaze without flinching. “I came with every intention of gobbling up acreage for Gus Farrington before the good folks of Pleasant Valley knew what hit them.”
“What changed your mind?” Emotion tightened her chest, making her voice a breathless whisper.
“You did.” He curved his lips in a heart-stopping smile and tightened his grip on her hands. “You and the valley worked your magic. I didn’t want to spoil this place for you or any of the people who’ve opened their homes and hearts to me. That’s why I resigned from the law firm. Why I rented office space from Jodie. I want Pleasant Valley to be my home, too.”
She had to be dreaming. Had her Yankee lawyer just declared he loved the valley as much as she did? “Can you forgive me for saying such awful things to you?”
“You were defending the people you love.”
“And you’re one of them,” she said quietly. “I love you, Rand. And I’ll never question your integrity again.”
He stood, pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. His body felt solid, warm and right against hers.
“That brings up another question,” he said.
She pressed her cheek against his heart and heard the thunder of its beating. “Ask anything you like.”
With gentle fingers, he lifted her chin until their eyes met. “Will you marry me, Brynn?”
Words failed her and tears of happiness filled her eyes.
“And Jared, too,” he added. “We come as a package deal.”
“Lordy,” she said with a sigh, “a woman would have to be crazy to turn down a package like that.”
He pulled her closer. “Is that a yes?”
She tilted her head and studied him, working hard to keep the mischief from her expression. “I’ve been more than a little crazy lately.”
His face clouded with disappointment.
“Crazy in love,” she amended, throwing her arms around his neck. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
With a whoop, he picked her off her feet and whirled her in a circle before kissing her, an embrace that threatened to steal all the oxygen from her body and consume her like a flame.
She finally pulled away for air, just as her dad climbed out of his pickup in front of the garage. Hunt’s smile was wider than the valley. “Glad to see you two have worked things out.”
“We’re getting married, Dad,” Brynn said.
Hunt’s gaze flickered over the flower-filled
back-yard and his eyes glazed briefly with memory before he held out his hand and shook Rand’s firmly. His earlier reservations about the man were forgotten. “Marriage is a good thing. Welcome to the family, son.”
Epilogue
An early autumn frost had worked its magic on the valley, turning the poplars a sunny yellow and the maples into breathtaking spectacles of gold and red. Only the majestic oaks maintained a vestige of deep green. At makeshift stands along Valley Road, farmers stacked pumpkins, bundles of colorful Indian corn and baskets of apples to entice tourists on their way to the mountains to view the fall colors.
In town, the maples that lined Piedmont Avenue were a flamboyant display of color, echoed by a rainbow of chrysanthemums in pots and window boxes in front of the shops.
And Hunt Sawyer’s backyard was a gardener’s delight, its verdant green lawn edged with beds of bronze and gold chrysanthemums, deep purple dahlias and autumn sedum. At the far end, beneath the persimmon tree, a trellis, covered with English ivy, had been erected. Standing in front of the trellis with Judge Byrd, his mentor from law school who would perform the wedding ceremony, Rand looked over the guests who’d assembled in the folding chairs.
With Mrs. Bickerstaff, Lillian, the Mauneys, Bud and Marion Sawyer, the Fultons and the staff and boys of Archer Farm were many others who were not only friends but now clients, too. Since opening his office last spring, Rand had been both amazed and gratified at the number of people in the valley who had requested his services. He’d helped with wills, trusts, business contracts, real estate sales and even a restraining order and divorce proceedings for a woman who’d suffered domestic abuse. He’d found the work surprisingly rewarding, much more so than any corporate deal he’d ever closed. And he’d even made new friends in the process—not something that had ever happened in New York.
He looked toward the back of the house, hoping for a glimpse of Brynn, but the wedding party was still inside. No one seemed in a hurry except him. The guests were chatting quietly among themselves while the string quartet he’d imported from Greenville played music that Brynn had selected, unfamiliar tunes with a happy beat that for once didn’t make him feel depressed.
Nearer the house, the catering staff was putting the last touches on the linen-draped buffet tables, and Rand spotted Jared, poking a finger into the icing of the wedding cake before Jodie whisked the boy back inside.
This time last year, Rand recalled, he’d feared Jared would never smile again. But the intervening months with all their blessings had worked wonders on the boy, who was as much in love with the woman he called “Mama Bwynn” as Rand was.
“I’m going to quit my job as soon as we’re married,” Brynn had told Rand.
“Are you sure?” He knew how much she enjoyed police work.
“Absolutely. Lillian is wonderful, but Jared needs a mother.” Her dark blue eyes sparkled. “And a baby sister or brother. I can always go back to work once the children are in school.”
Rand couldn’t believe his good fortune. Formerly a lone wolf—a predatory legal one at that—he now had family, friends and a warm, supportive community who more than made up for the fact that his elitist parents had declined to make the trip from Paris for the wedding. The flutter of excitement in his stomach reminded him how long it had been since he’d needed the antacids he’d lived on for so many years in his high-pressure job in the city.
The string quartet and the guests fell silent, and the only sound was the breeze rustling the dry leaves of the surrounding trees and scattering the waiting crowd with fluttering bits of red and gold. The musicians struck the first chord of the wedding march, and the guests rose to their feet.
Jared came down the white carpeted aisle first, carrying a satin pillow with the matching yellow-gold wedding rings. Rand could detect the tip of the boy’s tongue, tucked in the corner of his lips, as Jared concentrated on navigating the distance between the house and the trellis. Even though the rings were lightly tacked to the pillow, Jared had been worried that they might fall off in transit. When he reached the trellis, Rand grasped the boy’s shoulder and gave him a smile of approval.
Brittany, on Daniel’s arm, was next down the aisle. When Brynn had suggested that Daniel escort her goddaughter, Rand had applauded the idea. What better way to show the community their love and respect for the teenager who’d suffered twice from false allegations since his arrival in the valley?
Brittany and Daniel were followed by Jodie and Jeff, then Grant and Merrilee. The men’s tuxedoes matched Rand’s and the women wore elegant gowns of russet taffeta that changed colors from bronze to gold as they moved, reminding Rand of the highlights in Brynn’s hair.
The music swelled, and Brynn started down the aisle with her arm through her father’s. Rand’s breath caught in his throat. Foregoing traditional bridal white, Brynn had chosen a gown the color of pale champagne that complemented her creamy skin and thick auburn hair, upswept with soft, dangling curls that framed her face.
At that moment, her gaze met his, and he remembered nothing else throughout the ceremony except the love shining in those eyes. And the first kiss as husband and wife, of course.
The wedding dinner was also a blur filled with smiling faces, warm wishes and congratulatory toasts. After the cake had been cut and the champagne poured, Grant clinked his spoon against his glass. “I think it’s time we heard from the groom,” he said when the guests had quieted.
Brynn leaned toward Rand, kissed his cheek and said, “Show them what a silver-tongued devil you are.”
Rand rose to his feet, lifted his glass and surveyed the crowd with an expectant pause. “Have you heard the one about the Yankee lawyer and the Southern cop?”
The guests, well aware of Brynn’s propensity for both lawyer and Yankee jokes, groaned good-naturedly.
“I don’t believe I know that one,” Brynn said. “How does it go?”
Still unable to believe this gorgeous creature was really his wife, he returned her dazzling smile.
“They met,” he said, “they fell in love, they were married surrounded by family and friends—” He gestured to the surrounding group. “And they lived happily ever after.”
“Wif me,” Jared insisted loudly.
“With their wonderful son, Jared,” Rand added with a smile for the boy.
The roar of applause barely registered as Brynn laughed, kissed Rand and whispered in his ear, “This time, looks like the joke’s on me.”
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6930-2
SPRING IN THE VALLEY
Copyright © 2005 by Charlotte Douglas.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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†A Place to Call Home
*Identity Swap
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Spring in the Valley Page 16
