The Billionaire's Healer (Braxton Family Saga Book 2)

by Jane Keeler

  The driver asked whether she had any luggage to take out to the car. She picked up a brightly colored square canvas tote bag. Westley moved to carry it for her, but she shook her head and asked him to take a covered basket instead.

  “What’s in this? It smells delicious.”

  “Blueberry muffins. Try one—oh, um, I guess we need to get a move on…”

  He smiled reassuringly at her. He hoped she didn’t feel nervous about getting into a car with a strange man. “So,” he said, “how did you meet Karlee and my son?”

  “They knocked on my door one morning last year with a story about being chased by men in black suits. Karlee told me afterwards how it all ended. It sounded like something out of a movie.”

  “Yes, it does, but unfortunately it’s all true. Some of our patents would be worth millions on the open market. I’m looking for a good secure site for the first fuel cell plant now.”

  “Sure wish someone would open up a factory in Hannahs Branch. There are precious few jobs around here, and the ones we do have are liable to dry up and blow away when a big chain opens up next door.”

  Gray eyes met brown for a long moment. “You know,” Westley said, “this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  Sarah laughed.

  Westley smiled at her. He liked making her laugh. She had a beautiful laugh, full and melodious. She had a lovely voice, too, low and well modulated, with a musical resonance to it.

  Sarah locked up her house and they walked towards the car. Westley couldn’t take his eyes off her. She appeared fascinated by the car, and he’d caught her sneaking glances at his suit, but at the same time she didn’t change her behavior towards him. Her attitude towards him and his chauffeur had been exactly the same.

  She didn’t treat him as ‘Mr. Braxton, billionaire owner and CEO of Braxton Industries’. To her he was simply Westley, a man. He liked it.

  Westley said, “I do believe I will try one of these muffins, after all.” He took one out of the basket and was raising it to his mouth when he noticed Sarah focus on something behind him. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened—suddenly something slammed into the backs of Westley’s knees. He stumbled into Sarah, who caught him with surprising strength.

  They stood like that, arms around each other, knee to knee and chest to breast. He looked down into her upturned face—he was sure she could feel his heartbeat. She smelled clean and herbal, with a faint note of apples. Her felt her warm curves under his hands and the sensation was strong and sure and right. Her eyes closed. He leaned down to kiss her and caught himself abruptly. She let him go and stepped back. So did he.

  He shuffled his feet, embarrassed, but Sarah wasn’t looking at him. She was glaring at a dog—a dog that had just finished bolting down the remains of Westley’s muffin. The animal actually seemed abashed. It sat up straight and tried to look like a good dog.

  “Apologize to the nice man!” Sarah said.

  The dog crept up to him and licked his hand.,Whether it was in apology, or just to get the last few crumbs of muffin, Westley wasn’t sure.

  “It’s alright,” Westley said. “I saved the basket, see?”

  Sarah smiled at him. “That dog is a pest, but he doesn’t mean any harm.”

  The dog had wisely slunk off to a safer location.

  They made their way to the car without further incident. Westley opened the door for Sarah and bowed. “Your chariot awaits.”

  She curtseyed back, laughing.

  They settled themselves in the back seat. Westley finally got to try one of the muffins. It was fully as delicious as it had smelled. He could taste the freshness of the blueberries.

  “Did you make these? They’re very good.”

  “No, they were a gift from a friend of mine.”

  “You have many friends, I’m sure.”

  She laughed. “I probably know everybody in town. I guess that won’t seem like a lot to you, coming from the big city, but it’s plenty for me. I try to make sure they’re all right. People need looking after sometimes.”

  “Yes, they do. I make sure all my employees at Braxton Industries have good benefits and competitive pay rates.” Westley cleared his throat. He sounded like an HR brochure. His wooing skills were a little rusty.

  She seemed interested, though. “Were you serious about building your factory here?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh, yes. We’ve been experiencing continual problems with industrial espionage, so a secure location is very important. Is there a Chamber of Commerce here in Hannahs Branch I can discuss matters with?”

  “No, there’s just Bob, the mayor. He’d be thrilled to hear from you.”

  “I’ll instruct my assistant to call him. She knows all about it and will be able to inform him of our requirements and answer any questions.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, eating muffins. It was a companionable silence, with none of the wariness or uncertainty usually found between new acquaintances.

  Sarah hoped he was telling the truth about the factory, not only because it would be such a fantastic thing for the town, but because it meant he’d be spending more time in Hannahs Branch.

  It meant she’d get to see him again.

  The ride in the shiny silver car was certainly different from her old Ford. They seemed to glide along as if they were floating in a dream.

  Westley wasn’t a conjuration of her dreaming mind, though. He was very present and very real. The space between them seemed to thrum with unsaid words and untaken actions.

  Was he really about to kiss me? Sarah wondered. It had felt like it. She had wanted him to. Her lips were swollen and ever-so-slightly tingly; she had to concentrate not to make goo-goo eyes at him like some love-struck girl.

  She was glad for the basket of muffins: it gave them something to do when they ran out of conversation. All the same, it didn’t feel awkward between them. It felt as if they were old friends, meeting again after a long separation.

  Westley broke the silence first, “From what little I saw of it on the drive up, the countryside around here is beautiful. Hannahs Branch is lucky in some ways.”

  “Don’t I know it. I’ve lived here my whole life. I finished high school here and married my Charles. Then the babies started coming.” She smiled, remembering.

  “We used to camp out in the woods all the time. I’ve got a few acres I inherited from Charlie. That’s where I keep my still, don’t you know.” Sarah winked at him, but she felt an unexpected stab of discomfort, even shame, when she thought about how provincial her life must look to him.

  She would never admit it, and had never felt this way before, but riding along in this man’s expensive car, looking at the contrast between his finely tailored suit and her old, slightly faded dress, she felt unsure of herself.

  Even wrestling with this unfamiliar self-doubt, Sarah kept her sense of humor. The folks back home would be shocked if they ever found out. The Sarah Abbott they knew had never experienced doubt of any sort. Some people (mostly men) thought she was too cock-sure, always bossing people around and interfering where she wasn’t wanted. They still came to her when they needed help, though.

  “I spend most of my time in New York City, although I have a place in Miami. I’ve got a boat I like to take out into the Florida Keys when I have time,” Westley said. “It’s peaceful out on the water.”

  “I love the sound of the surf,” Sarah said. “I’ve only ever been to the beaches here in North Carolina, though.”

  They chatted pleasantly back and forth. Westley didn’t seem to notice Sarah’s momentary unease, and her enjoyment of his company quickly banished it from her mind.

  They drove up to an unfamiliar airport—it certainly wasn’t the main airport in Raleigh that Sarah had been to once or twice. They got out of the car and she tried not to act like a hillbilly rube when Wesley pointed out his private jet. He touched the small of her back gently when she stalled out at the top of the stairs, gawping at the luxury interio
r. Luckily, he was behind her and couldn’t see her expression.

  She moved on forward, deciding which of the huge leather-covered seats she should sit in. She tried not to think about the warm spot on her back where he had touched her.

  He smiled and asked, “Do you prefer to face to the front or back when you fly?”

  “Um, front, I guess.” Sarah sat down, and it was as comfortable as it looked. Now she really did feel like a hick. The inside of the plane was like a private room at some swanky country club, and she’d never belonged to a country club, much less one that flew through the air.

  Westley sat down opposite her and put the muffin basket on the little table in between them. Sarah stowed her bag of remedies under her seat and looked around for her seatbelt, fastening it securely. It made her feel a little safer in this unfamiliar setting.

  Westley was looking at her without expression. She had a feeling he might be a little amused, but if was he hid it well.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked. “Dinner will be served in a little while—we could have appetizers?” He pressed a button and a flight attendant came out of seclusion from somewhere in the front to stood attentively beside Westley’s chair.

  “The Dom Pérignon, please.” Westley waved his hand, “and the menu, and some hors d’oeuvres, if you would.”

  They heard a pop from the front, and the flight attendant returned with a bottle of wine in an ice bucket. Slices of crusty bread, spread with flavorful cream cheese and topped with paper-thin slices of ham, were served with it. Westley poured glasses of champagne for them both.

  Sarah didn’t drink very much or very often, but she appreciated how well the food went with the fizzy wine. She decided to relax and go with the flow. This whole situation might be very different from what she was used to, but it definitely had its good points.

  “The bubbles are tickling my nose.” She giggled.

  Westley’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he gazed at her over his own glass. “What would you like for dinner?” They usually provide a choice of two—looks like we have chicken curry and Thai coconut shrimp. What are you in the mood for?”

  Westley had never met anyone like her. She seemed taken aback at the luxury he took for granted. Most of the women he dated acted like it was a lifestyle to which they would very much like to become accustomed, but Sarah gave the impression of someone observing an alien environment.

  She had certainly enjoyed the meal and the champagne, and seemed to going along with the experience as if it were an exciting ride at a theme park, but it didn’t really affect her. She wasn’t eager for the nice things and experiences he could give her—if anything she seemed like someone entering a cold pool, inch by careful inch.

  They landed without incident and found another car waiting to take them to the hotel. Sarah might have clutched her bag a little more tightly, but got into the car cheerfully enough.

  She froze when they walked into the hotel. The lobby floor had a pattern of squares in warm shades of marble, leading up to two tall pillars, which flanked a dramatic staircase that looked like something out of Gone with the Wind. A large crystal chandelier glittered and threw sparkles over everything.

  “Where are we? I can’t afford this.” Sarah said.

  “It’s already paid for. If you don’t stay, the room will just go to waste.” Westley tilted his head and smiled at her. “Gabe and I feel honored to do this for Karlee. She asked us to bring you here because she needs your support.”

  Sarah nodded sharply and allowed the bellhop to take her bag. Jeannette, competent as always, had booked them adjoining rooms. Westley wondered if there was a connecting door and quickly dismissed the thought.

  “I think it would be best to settle in for the night,” he said. “It’s late and tomorrow will be a long day.”

  Sarah nodded again and gave him as shy smile. “Good night, Westley.”

  “Good night, Sarah. Sleep well.”

  The room was as lavish as Sarah had expected. The tall headboard on the huge bed was covered in tufted leather, as was the couch fitted around the table in the corner. The table had an arrangement of peonies on it. Sarah touched them—they were real. On one of the nightstands, a trio of white orchids bloomed. On the other, it was white roses.

  She sighed, remembering the people in the hotel lobby. They looked like actors in a movie, not anybody she’d ever seen in real life. Westley belonged here, but Sarah felt even shabbier than the hotel employees.

  She opened the curtains to look at the city lights. They reminded her of a thick swarm of fireflies on a moonless night, but she could hear sirens in the distance that let her know she was a long way from home. The room was pleasantly cool, but the air felt dead and dry. She turned the TV on and flipped through the channels, but then turned it off again with a chuffing noise, like a horse refusing an inferior carrot.

  She decided to take a bath and go to bed. They were attending the funeral tomorrow, and Sarah expected to need all her energy.

  Now this was something she liked. She luxuriated in the huge marble tub, taking advantage of the unlimited hot water, bubble bath, and huge fluffy towels. When she left the bathroom, wrapped in a soft fluffy bathrobe, she felt much better.

  She drew a glass of water from the tap and added a couple full droppers worth of tincture of passionflower and another of wood betony. She drank it up, crawled into bed (nude, as was her habit), and dropped right off to sleep.

  She slept well; it was a good bed with a top-quality mattress.

  Sarah woke up at dawn the way she usually did, and took another shower for the pure pleasure of it. She did what she could with her hair, got dressed, and decided to go downstairs and explore.

  The lobby was practically deserted. The young woman at the reception desk smiled at her. Sarah smiled back.

  She strolled up to the wide mahogany counter and said, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, ma’am!” The girl seemed very enthusiastic about the quality of the day.

  “You all have some lovely flowers here.”

  “Why thank you, ma’am. Get ‘em delivered fresh every day.” The girl pulled a pink ranunculus out of a nearby vase, snipped off the stem, inserted it into a small plastic tube, and handed it to Sarah with another dimpled smile.

  “Why thank you.” Sarah tucked the flower into her ponytail and smiled back. “Do you think you could tell me where the shop is? Is it open this time of morning?”

  The girl gave her directions.

  Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Sarah asked herself. That girl was perfectly sweet and friendly and didn’t show a hint of looking down on her. Of course, Sarah thought darkly, they probably hired the very best at hotels like this.

  She saw the hotel shop and went in to find something to read. Sarah wasn’t accustomed to sitting in a box and needed something to keep her entertained.

  She looked at the magazines on display—the heavily made-up young models were beautiful, but thin as a rail. They showed a lot of skin and languished in the spaces between such headlines as: “How to Get a Man to Notice You!!” and “Have the Best Orgasm of Your Life!!!”

  Sarah snorted quietly. She’d had plenty of electrifying orgasms in her time. She and Charlie had enjoyed a full and active sex life. They’d even done it up in a tree once, back before the children were born. She smiled reminiscently and decided to take a look at the magazine. She glanced through it (the orgasm tips were nothing she didn’t already know) and looked at the clothes in fashion.

  Sarah tended to buy new clothes when her old ones wore out. It wasn’t like she needed to look fancy out in Hannahs Branch. Some of her clothes were decades old. It wasn’t normally something she thought about, but looking at the outfits in the glossy pages of this magazine made her feel dowdy and out of touch.

  It said the ‘New Boho’ look was in—it appeared to consist of long, loose, colorful dresses worn with a lot of jewelry, especially big, dangling earrings. Sarah liked some of the dres
ses, but the earrings would only get in her way.

  Another style the magazine touted was ‘Exotic Empress’. This one involved rich fabrics, often shot through with gold or elaborately embroidered. Sarah touched the picture of one outfit, a sort of tunic worn over—she looked closely—tights.

  “Lord help my soul and body,” she murmured. She didn’t know about that: she would prefer pants, thank you very much. But she did like the tunic.

  She sighed. Not like she could afford any of those clothes anyhow. And she had accepted that her hair would never look like the hairstyles in the pictures. She put the magazine down and went over to look at the books. She found a mildly interesting novel, paid for it, and took it back up to her room.

  She knocked on Westley’s door at eight o’ clock, figuring he should be up by then. He answered in a pair of blue silk pajamas. She tried not to stare. His hair was ruffled and he looked a thousand times more approachable than he had in his tailored suit, elegant as it was.

  “Come in,” Westley smiled sleepily at her. “I’ll be ready soon if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes.”

  Westley’s room looked exactly the same as hers, except for different flower arrangements. She put her purse and remedy bag on the table, sat down, pulled out her new book and set about trying to read it.

  Westley padded off to finish whatever he had been doing when she interrupted him. She was enjoying the way the silk slid over his backside when she caught his eye in the mirror. She blushed and turned her eyes back to her book. She thought she could hear snickering from the other end of the room, but ignored it with determination.

  Chapter 5

  The funeral procession wound like a dark river through the bright sunlight. Karlee’s red hair was the only bright thing about her that day. She was wearing large sunglasses, so Sarah couldn’t see her eyes, but it was a good bet they were swollen, red from crying and lack of sleep. Gabe stuck to Karlee’s side like a mother hen with a single delicate chick. The girl leaned on him, shaking with silent sobs as the pastor read the funeral service.