by Laura Abbot
Hell, he’d worked up more energy about the idea slowly forming in his head to develop an upscale conference and resort center on Beaver Lake than he had about any of Carl’s importunings. It wasn’t about money, although he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t want his money to work for him. It was about intangible rewards, permanence. Only with Brooke had he found that.
He closed his eyes and tried to bring her into focus—her long silky hair, her tanned shoulders, but the image kept shifting in his memory. Instead, he pictured the willowy body of Nell Porter topped by her heart-shaped face and big, knowing eyes, her arms cradling books protectively against her breasts.
The damn books. He’d been ill-prepared for the wave of nostalgia that had swept over him. Johnny Tremain. He’d suddenly remembered his mother’s animated voice reading to him. Remembered lying in bed listening, the words transforming him into a boy in Revolutionary War times. Then, after she closed the book, she tucked the covers around him and kissed him good-night. That was before…
He cursed under his breath. For years he’d pretty much been able to fend off such memories, feeding on his resentment and losing himself in work until forgetfulness became a habit.
What was Nell Porter doing to him anyway? Whatever it was felt way too much like pecking away at his armor. Yet he was drawn to her in ways that made no sense. All he knew was that he felt better when he was around her.
He sat up, drained the soda, punched the Play button on the machine and listened to Carl’s edgy voice fill him in on the latest emergency at L&S TechWare.
He should respond. Immediately. Regrettably, that wasn’t a priority.
NELL HAD GIVEN IN and gone shopping with Lily. Down deep, she valued her sister’s advice. Lily’s taste was impeccable. The floral print wraparound skirt and filmy lavender blouse were on sale and, as Lily insisted, were Nell’s “colors.” Nell had to admit she’d been flattered by the lift of Brady’s eyebrows when he picked her up Saturday evening.
Light from the fading sun filtered through the ancient oaks and dappled the manicured lawn as Nell led Brady to the back gate of Lily’s house. Stella, Evan’s mother and father, and several other couples were already there, clustered around the hors d’oeuvres table set up on the flagstone patio. In a far corner of the yard, Abby corralled Chase. Without consulting Nell, Lily had invited Abby to baby-sit with Chase and spend the night. The obviousness of her maneuver would be amusing if it wasn’t so darn uncomfortable. Nell disliked being the focus of Lily’s expectations.
“Here’s Nell.” Her mother broke away from the guests and came toward them, a fixed smile on her face. “And you must be Brady,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Nell’s mother, Stella Janes.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Brady said. “Nell has made me feel most welcome in Arkansas.”
“I’m glad to hear my daughter represents the best of Southern hospitality.”
“You taught me well,” Nell murmured.
Stella tucked her arm through Brady’s. “Come meet Lily’s husband and the others.”
Trailing the pair, Nell sought to unfist her hands, aware of the tension riddling her. This was no big deal, yet she knew her family. They would make something out of nothing. She glanced across the yard and her heart sank. Oblivious to Chase tugging on her shorts, Abby was watching Brady’s progress to the patio with narrowed eyes and thinned lips.
Somehow Nell made it through the introductions, ignoring the questioning looks some of the women angled at Brady and her. From the cooler Brady picked out a beer and a soda. “Which would you prefer, Nell?”
Before she could answer, Lily slipped in between them. “My sister doesn’t drink.”
Nell winced. Would Brady pick up on the pointedness of the remark or was she simply overreacting?
Brady handed Nell the soda, then smiled at the two women. “I don’t either, except for an occasional beer.”
After Lily excused herself, Brady looked down at Nell, his eyes soft. “I like your family. Nice people.”
Nell tore her gaze from him and glanced around. “Yes. They are.” Then she noticed Abby sitting in a swing, holding Chase in her lap. The girl’s eyes were fixed everywhere but on Nell. “Brady, I’d like you to meet my daughter.” She started walking toward Abby, confident Brady was following. “Abby, this is—” When she turned to include him in the introduction, he wasn’t right behind her as she’d expected. He had stopped several feet away and his face had gone pale. “—Brady Logan,” Nell finished lamely.
As if shaking off a trance, he ran a hand through his hair and approached the swing set. “Hello,” he said in a husky voice.
Abby gave him a brief glance, then continued swinging. “’Lo.”
Nell stepped forward, took hold of the ropes and brought the swing to a stop. “Brady recently moved here from California,” she said in a voice full of a mind-your-manners undertone.
“I know.” Abby’s stony face had softened not one iota. “Grandma told me.”
Nell could only wonder what other tidbits Stella had seen fit to divulge. She turned helplessly to Brady. “And this is Chase, Lily’s son,” she said running a hand over the toddler’s curly hair.
“Hi, Chase.”
The boy ducked his head into Abby’s shirt. Abby continued to stare at her mother in sullen defiance.
“What grade are you in, Abby?”
Slowly Abby turned to Brady. “Eighth.”
Brady’s voice sounded strangled. “Hope you enjoy the year.”
Nell was missing something. It was as if Brady, usually confident and assured in social situations, had become a tongue-tied adolescent himself.
“Don’t you need to mingle or something?” Glaring, Abby nodded in the direction of the adult guests. Her leave-me-alone message was received loud and clear.
“I guess we should. I just wanted you to meet Brady.”
“Well, now I have.” Abby clutched Chase and stood. Turning to Brady, she mumbled her excuses. “I gotta go feed Chase.”
“Glad to have met you,” Brady said.
“Yeah.” Abby marched past them toward the house.
Abby’s rudeness had effectively communicated her displeasure. Nell laid a hand on Brady’s arm. “I’m sorry about that. She’s usually more pleasant.”
Brady shook his head. “Kids. What’re you going to do?” He put an arm around her shoulder, a gesture Nell found all too comforting. “I remember.”
Nell looked up into eyes haunted with sadness. Then realization struck her. “Oh, Brady, how old was your daughter?”
Brady cleared his throat before answering. “About Abby’s age.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He rested his chin on her head. “Me, too.” Then in a soft echo he repeated himself. “Me, too.”
There were no words. Brushing a palm across the front of his starched shirt, Nell lingered in the curve of his embrace before stepping away. “Maybe we should rejoin the party.”
He took her by the elbow and led her to a group sitting on the patio. “Brady? Brady Logan?” A prematurely balding man with glasses stood. “What a pleasure. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
Brady shook the man’s hand, then introduced her to Buzz Valentine, who, in turn, presented his wife, Sandy, who made room for her on the glider. Nell knew of Buzz Valentine by reputation. He was a successful commercial realtor and developer, and the couple were very active in the community. While she and Sandy made small talk, Nell couldn’t help overhearing Brady and Buzz deep in discussion about various tracts of land. What was going on? How did Brady know Buzz? She drew a quick breath. Maybe Brady was serious about staying.
She studied him—earnest, handsome and incredibly virile—and tried to talk sense to herself. These awakenings in her body, involuntary as they were, were embarrassing. And way too powerful. She’d stop them if she could. He’d made his expectations quite clear. Friendship.
Just then he glanced toward her, sending a tender sm
ile meant only for her. Her insides suddenly turned topsy-turvy, and she knew she would have to be careful. Very careful.
He was a sexy, appealing man, and despite all her rationalizations, she had noticed.
Boy, had she noticed!
BRADY WAS GRATEFUL when Nell suggested they be among the first departing guests. Although everyone had been friendly and welcoming, this was more social interaction than he’d had since… Men and women milling in his oversize living room, their expressions set in solemn mourning, their dark garments in stark contrast to the sunny California day flaming beyond the floor-to-ceiling plate glass. Their solicitous murmurs of condolence falling impotently somewhere beyond his consciousness. The palpable air of relief with which they turned from him and hastened to the buffet table. He would forever see the scene in black-and-white shattered by violent splashes of red and yellow behind his pupils, as if grief were being experienced through the lens of an avant-garde cinematographer.
Now, as they approached her house, Nell brought him back to the present moment. “Was this evening difficult for you?”
He eased the car into her drive and shut off the motor, surprised by her insight. “Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been unusually quiet on the way home.”
Sidestepping the necessity of answering, he tried a smile. “Have I been a dull date?”
“Not at all. Everyone, including me, found you quite congenial.”
“Congenial enough to invite me in for a while?” He could’ve escaped, yet he wanted to talk about this evening. All except meeting Abby. He couldn’t talk about that. Not yet. Abby’s gangly legs, with telltale razor nicks, her half-child, half-woman body, even her braces had wrenched him back to the last time he’d seen Nicole, modeling her new swimsuit for him, her buds of breasts taking him by surprise, her little-girlness metamorphosing into something alien and threatening to a father.
Nell looked up at him questioningly. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. It’s not that late.”
Nell dug her house key out of her purse. “Come on then. I’ll make us a pot of decaf.”
She left Brady in the tiny family room, only the glow of a small table lamp illuminating the space. He put his head back and shut his eyes, letting peace wrap around him like a cocoon. For the first time that evening, he drew a deep breath and let his body relax, appreciating the fact that Nell had not chosen to press him about his reaction to the party.
When she came back, bearing two mugs of coffee, she handed him his, then settled at the other end of the couch. Yet she didn’t say anything, just sat, composed, holding the mug between her hands.
Somehow the comfortable silence made it easier for him to begin. “I liked the people I met.”
She smiled.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been around so many people in that kind of situation.”
“I thought so.”
“I—I haven’t been ready. For a long time, I couldn’t understand how people could laugh freely, seemingly have so few cares. They seemed distant, superficial.”
“It’s painful, isn’t it?”
He set down his mug and looked at her. “You understand.”
“Finding yourself alone plunges you into a darkness that can seem never-ending.” She, too, set aside her coffee. “When my marriage was falling apart and then my father died so suddenly, I couldn’t imagine a world where the sun would shine. Couldn’t begin to picture a time when I would have an ordinary day. In fact, the concept of ‘ordinary’ was utterly foreign to me.”
He stared into her eyes, in which was revealed intimate experience with pain and death. Yet she had found the courage to trust in rainbows. “Do you ever look at people, like at the party, and wonder what they know of suffering?”
“All the time,” she said quietly.
“Yet you seem to have been able to go on.”
She bit her bottom lip, then nodded. “You will, too.”
He moved closer, then without thinking, picked up her hand. “I wouldn’t have believed that two weeks ago. But now,” he felt his defenses begin to crumble, “I think it may be possible.”
“Change is scary, isn’t it?”
Was that part of it? Not just grief, but fear of change? “Especially when you can’t control the forces that set it in motion.”
“Control…ah, yes.” She studied him, as if seeking some kind of answer from him. “What is in your control now, Brady?”
It was a big question. One that deserved a thoughtful answer, but at this moment the softness of her skin beneath his fingers and the luminous quality in her eyes suggested what he desperately needed to control was the pounding of his heart. Because, more than anything, he wanted to pull her close, taste her lips, smell her skin. And that surprised him.
He steadied his emotions and answered her. “More than there has been in quite a while. I’m staying here, I’m letting my partner handle the business until I make some decisions about the future.”
“Can you let some of it be beyond your control?”
He moved so that she was in the curve of his arm. How would she react if she knew he’d even orchestrated their meeting? “How can you already know me so well? I must come across as a controlling kind of guy.”
“You’re a man, aren’t you?”
He loved the teasing twinkle in her eye. “Guilty as charged.”
“Well?”
“Seriously? It’s hard for me to sit back and let things happen.”
She reached up and caressed his cheek. “And you couldn’t prevent the accident.”
He lowered his head, aware of the dark night lurking outside the circle of lamplight. “No.”
“That’s the hardest part,” she said. “Accepting that there are many things beyond our ability to control.”
“Were you born wise?”
“Hardly,” she said, and he saw the hint of pain in her eyes.
He lifted his hand from her shoulder and toyed with her hair. “We sure did get serious.”
“And our coffee’s probably cold.” She leaned forward and retrieved her mug, tasted it, then smiled. “If you hurry, it might still warm your innards.”
He laughed. “Innards. Now that’s the first hillbilly-ism I’ve heard from you.”
“But probably not the last.” She batted her eyes and then added, “You’uns be rat fine, fer a man.”
“Rat?”
“Right,” she explained.
They kept the conversation light until it was time for him to leave. In the front hall, he paused. She looked up at him, her big eyes fixed on his, and he couldn’t think of a thing to say. The silence was charged with overtones of need…and control. Finally, he remembered himself. “Thank you. I had a great evening.”
For the second time that night, she laid her palm on his chest, and he was sure she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. “So did I.”
He covered her hand with his and then, before he could censor himself, he leaned forward and kissed her, gently, fleetingly. Not at all like he wanted to. What he wanted was to crush her to him and salve all those places where emotions had rubbed him raw, where healing had never begun. Maybe never would.
Then he was aware only of the softness of her lips beneath his, the hint of a coffee taste in her mouth and a delicious soothing warmth spreading through his body. When he released her, she gazed up at him with a question in her eyes.
Her voice was tremulous. “Friends?”
“Friends,” he repeated.
“Good night,” she whispered.
Later standing beside his car in the still, late summer evening, listening to tree frogs and the insistent barking of a neighbor’s dog, Brady began to wonder. Was it possible simply to remain friends with Nell?
His body was demanding more. Hell, she was no longer pecking at his armor. She had pierced it.
And it was far beyond his control.
CHAPTER FIVE
AFTER LUNCH the next day, Lily and Evan dr
opped Abby off at home. She muttered a perfunctory “hello” to Nell before bolting to her room and closing her door. Sighing, Nell set aside the sketch book in which she’d been drawing. Friends had told her that the early teens were the worst for girls, and she had no trouble believing it. Rioting hormones had changed her daughter from a tractable, sweet child into a rebellious, insecure adolescent, who had no intention of continuing to share her inner life, at least with her mother.
Yet Nell really needed to address Abby’s behavior last night. Regardless of Brady’s experience with teenagers, Abby’s attitude had been embarrassing. What would it take to convince her Brady posed no threat?
Nell had replayed the kiss at the door repeatedly and had concluded it was nothing more than a casual gesture, friend-to-friend. At least for him. And that was a good thing. She couldn’t risk emotional involvement and the potential for falling back into the trap of failure and self-doubt.
She’d experienced plenty of that, thanks to Rick. Over and over she had asked herself where things had gone wrong. Had she been that bad a wife? They’d met in college, a classic case of opposites attracting. She, the quiet, studious coed, drawn to the gregarious, life-of-the-party frat president. During their courtship, it was as if he drew confidence from her adoration. For her, being at Rick’s side meant inclusion into social groups. Besides, his blond good looks reminded her of her father. It had been easy to say “yes” when he’d asked to marry her.
Maybe they should have left Fayetteville early in their marriage, seen something of the world, learned to depend on each other. Perhaps everything had come too easily, been too familiar. Right out of college, Rick took a job with the athletic department of the university. That meant long workdays, travel and weekends full of sporting events. And parties.
