by Laura Abbot
“Interesting road,” Brady remarked dryly.
“It’s an old logging road. Lots of them around.”
“Where’s the lake from here?”
“Over there.” Buzz pointed to his left. “Right now, you’ll have to take my word for it, but you’ll be able to see it shortly. If you get interested in this property, you’ll have to hike it if you want to explore it all.”
“I’m surprised there’s this much land left for sale.”
“Old-timers held on to it after the dam was constructed and the lake filled in the ’60s. Now some of their heirs are more interested in selling. That’s freed up some parcels. But they won’t last long.”
Brady couldn’t blame the real estate agent for his not-so-subtle application of pressure. It was prime acreage, thick with dogwoods, pine, oaks, sycamores, scrub cedars. Beautiful striated rock ledges rimmed the road.
“Here we are.” Buzz abruptly stopped the truck. “We’ll walk aways from here so I can show you the spot with the best lake view.” He fumbled behind the seat and pulled out a can of bug repellant. “Spray your feet and legs.”
Taking the can, Brady raised the question. “Why?”
“Ticks and chiggers, friend. They love me. I don’t know whether they’re partial to you or not, but, trust me, you don’t want to find out.”
Brady stepped out of the truck, liberally sprayed himself, then stepped away and took a deep breath. The air was fresh, and all around him dew-covered vegetation sparkled in the morning sun. Brady realized he hadn’t known quiet like this since he’d left Colorado those many years ago. The only sounds were bird-calls, the gentle sigh of a soft breeze through the conifers and his own breathing.
Buzz led the way through the trees until they reached a level piece of ground on a cliff high above the water, glinting blue and silver in the light. “This could be the site of your main lodge.”
Brady was thinking the same thing. He could visualize a handsome log structure, nestled in the trees, with full views of the lake, meeting rooms done in rustic styles and colors, a first-class dining room with a deck overhanging the lake. Cabins and lodges scattered along the shoreline. He began pacing off the property, thinking about road easements, septic systems, wells. A lot of groundwork before construction could begin. “Politically, how difficult will it be to get the various permissions I’d need?”
Buzz pushed back his cap and scratched his head. “I won’t fool you. There’ll be some problems. The main one being getting a permit for a multislip dock from the Army Corps of Engineers. You’ll have to have your ducks in a row.”
“That’s the way it is with anything,” Brady said. His mind was racing with possibilities. A chunk of ground like this in California would be untouchable for most. “What are we talking about per acre?”
Buzz gave him a figure. Two million would probably get it. Brady knew he had a lot of homework to do before he committed—canvassing business leaders to see if there would be interest in a resort-conference center, talking with county officials, utility companies, the Corps of Engineers. The list was endless, yet the prospect had engaged his imagination. “If you can get me a plat map, I’d like to walk the land in the next day or two. If I like what I see, I’ll consider taking an option on the property.”
Buzz held out his hand. “You’d never regret that decision.”
Grinning, Brady shook Buzz’s hand. “Looks like I’ll need to purchase my own bug spray.”
On the way home, Buzz stopped at his office to pick up the map. That afternoon, Brady sat at the heavy mahogany dining table in his leased condo. At least this piece of Victoriana has a function, he thought, spreading out the map. Then, with a legal pad for notes at his side, he commenced studying and brainstorming. It was nearly dark before he looked up, surprised to notice the failing light.
Checking his watch, he calculated California time and put in a call for Carl. After a few pleasantries, Brady got right to the point. “I may need to sell some company stock.”
Carl’s reaction was guarded. “What’s up?”
Brady briefly outlined the project.
Carl’s next words were not encouraging. “Have you slipped a cog, pal? You’re telling me you want to build a first-rate conference center and resort in the boonies of ever’lovin’ Arkansas? You want a challenge? Fine. Come home and take your pick.”
After Brady hung up, he sat for a moment, eyes fixed on the map. Carl didn’t get it. There was no “home.” Certainly not in California. Could he ever go back? He wasn’t sure. That partly depended on Nell.
He groaned. Where had that thought come from? Damn it, they were friends. He stood and paced to the window, where he stared down at the concrete parking lot where two boys were skateboarding.
Hell, he’d been kidding himself. He was interested in Nell. Her sparkly eyes and fragile, feminine body made him long to pull her into his arms. The truth resounding in his head filled him with something akin to panic. How could this be happening?
He pressed his forehead against the cool window-pane. Oh, Brooke, I miss you and Nicole so much. What would you want me to do? Was it disloyal to be thinking about Nell? To feel his body quickening even as he asked the question?
As if he were being sent a sign, the phone rang. When he answered, it was Nell, her voice light, animated and soothing, inviting him to dinner Friday evening.
After he hung up, he became aware he was standing in the middle of this anachronistically decorated bachelor pad, in, yes, “ever’lovin’ Arkansas,” wearing a sappy grin.
FRIDAY NIGHT Abby stood in the small combination living room-dining room eyeing the drop leaf table set for two. When Nell set a bowl of garden flowers in the center, Abby edged closer, glaring at her mother. “What are you trying to do? Ruin my life?”
Nell took a deep breath, then straightened. “You think I could single-handedly do that?”
Abby shrugged. “Looks like you’re trying.”
“All because I’ve invited Mr. Logan to dinner?”
“Mom, we’re doing fine.” Abby’s voice rose in protest. “We don’t need him.”
“It’s dinner, Abby, not a life-long commitment.”
Abby’s jaw tightened, and all she said was, “Oh, brother.”
“You have your friends. I have mine.”
Abby thrust an arm in the direction of the table. “When did you get out all this fancy junk? We never eat in here. But nothing’s too good for Brady, right?” She made the word “Brady” sound like “cootie.”
Rather than rising to the bait, Nell turned to the hutch and got out her crystal salt and pepper shakers. After she placed them on the linen tablecloth, she faced Abby. “What’s really bothering you about this?”
She watched while Abby chewed her lip, unwilling to look at her mother.
“I asked you a question.”
“What do we know about this Brady guy? Huh? So he’s your ‘friend’ and he’s from California. That’s not much. What’s he doing here anyway?”
“I know he is a man who lost his wife and daughter in a tragic automobile accident and he could use all the friends he can get. You included.”
Color flooded Abby’s cheeks. “I…I didn’t know.” She hesitated, as if reflecting on the conversation. “That’s really sad, but, jeez, that doesn’t mean I have to like him.”
“No. You’ll have to get to know him on your own. If you give him a chance.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I’d be disappointed in you. But that’s your choice.”
Abby seemed torn between resentment and acceptance. “It’s just I’m afraid that—” A car horn sounded from the driveway. Abby wheeled toward the window.
“Afraid of what?”
“Never mind. I gotta go.” Abby hurried toward the door. “That’s Tonya’s dad to take us to the game. Bye.”
Like a wind preceding a storm, Abby blew out of the house, leaving Nell standing, defeated, in the living room, enthusiasm for the evening draining fro
m her.
She knew what Abby was afraid of. The same thing she was.
But she had a choice. Living in fear or following the urgings of her heart.
Nell stepped back and surveyed the table—her good china, silver flatware, starched linens. She rubbed her arms against a shiver of anticipation.
Anything could happen when you followed your heart.
BRADY SHOVED BACK his chair. “Thank you, Nell, that was the best dinner I’ve had in a long time.”
She smiled that crinkly smile he could look at all day. “No cook in your bachelor quarters?”
“Not unless you count the leading purveyors of frozen food.” He patted his stomach. “Many more meals like that and I’ll have to join a gym.”
“I know the feeling. I’m stuffed, too.” Nell stood and picked up their empty dessert bowls. He followed her into the kitchen. “You don’t need to help.”
“I want to.” He took the dessert bowls from her, then nodded at the stacked dinner plates. “You load those in the dishwasher while I rinse these.”
“Thanks. You’re certainly more willing help than Abby.”
Brady tensed. When he’d first arrived, Nell had mentioned Abby was at a football game. Since then her name hadn’t been uttered. Until now. He didn’t have so much trouble with the comparisons he drew between Brooke and Nell. The two were very different. But Abby was another matter. After meeting her and from what Nell had told him about her, Abby was a flesh-and-blood reminder of Nicole and what would never be his—the joy and satisfaction of seeing his daughter grow and mature. Although it wasn’t Abby’s fault, he wasn’t sure he could open himself to the pain of a relationship with her.
“There,” Nell said, filling the soap dispenser and switching on the dishwasher. “That’s done.” She ran her fingers through her short hair, then turned to him with a smile of invitation. “Feel like walking that dinner off?”
“Sure. What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a small park down at the foot of the hill. We could make the circuit.”
Her neighborhood was in an older section of town, with tree-lined sidewalks and deep front yards. When they stepped outside, the sun rested on the horizon, creating long shadows. The heat of the day had been replaced by moderate temperatures. “This way,” Nell said, slipping her hand into his as naturally as if she’d always done so. He liked thinking about how they appeared to the few onlookers out watering their grass or sitting on their front porches. A couple. He was comforted by the feel of her warm hand in his, the way she matched his stride. As if they were totally in sync.
“Fayetteville is a nice town,” he said. “Homey.”
“I don’t know if I could ever live in a big city. I’m a small-town kind of girl.”
Brady pictured the traffic on the Bayshore Freeway, the commute to the mountains or the ocean, the acres of designer golf courses and upscale malls. He couldn’t see her there. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I guess I sound pretty provincial.”
He swung their clasped hands playfully. “City slicker meets country girl?”
She looked up, her mouth curved in a warm smile. “Something like that.”
He dropped her hand and put his arm around her waist, tugging her close. “Don’t you worry, dear lady, my intentions are honorable.”
He’d said it in jest, but it had come out wrong. She kept walking, her pace slowing, the smile fading. Finally, she stopped and faced him. “I didn’t know you had any intentions.”
He stepped closer, bringing her face inches from his. He could smell the lilac sweetness of her perfume, see the question in her eyes. Energy radiated between them. An emotion—spontaneous and undeniable—filled his chest and he somehow managed to utter the words springing from pure feeling. “Neither did I. Until now.”
Her eyes locked on his and he reached for both her hands, clutching them as if they were all that kept him from losing himself again. “Nell, would it be all right with you if…I wanted to be more than friends?”
He could sense her body stiffening, see the doubt clouding her eyes. But then she drew a deep breath, and as if it had cleansed the tension, a gentle expression took the place of doubt. “Yes,” she said, and he no longer heard the splatter of the sprinkler system at his back nor the traffic noise. All he knew was that something important had just taken place.
“We could see—” he began.
“No expectations. Slow and easy,” she said.
“And no more hurt. I promise.”
She withdrew one hand and covered his mouth with two fingers. “No promises. I can’t trust them.”
He cradled her face in his hands. “If I have anything to do about it, you’ll be able to.”
Then, and only then, she moved into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. “One day at a time,” she whispered, before raising her lips to his.
At last.
CHAPTER SIX
AT THE PARK, Brady led Nell to a bench hidden from the street by a row of crape myrtle bushes. Sitting there, nestled in the curve of his arm, she tried to follow her own advice and live in the moment. To ignore all her nagging doubts, to bask in the warmth and strength emanating from the man beside her, to trust the step they had just taken.
To be happy. Now.
But hanging over her head was the specter of alcoholism and its potential to dash her hopes. She would have to tell Brady at some point, but for tonight? She wanted—in this moment—simply to be.
When Brady broke the silence, Nell thought he must’ve read her mind because all he said was, “Happy?”
She didn’t know how to answer him. “I’m afraid of happy.”
“You’re a profound woman, Nell Porter.” He ran his hand up and down her bare arm. “I know exactly what you mean.” He hesitated, before continuing. “I’ve asked myself over and over how I could deserve happiness after…what happened.”
“To your family?”
“Yeah. But tonight, being here with you—” he kissed her forehead “—it seems almost attainable.”
“I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m not sure anyone ever ‘deserves’ happiness. It just happens. The trick is to recognize it and savor it for however long it lasts. It’s certainly not a permanent condition.” How well she knew. There was a time in her youthful innocence when she had thought she would always be happy. In that idealized view, her father would always be there, Rick would love her forever, and she would be the perfect daughter, wife, mother.
He caressed her cheek with his forefinger. “That’s why tonight is special. Being with you, I almost feel whole again. I never thought I would.”
Nell leaned back, finding his words both rewarding and burdensome. “I can’t make you whole, Brady. That has to come from somewhere inside of you. Healing takes time.”
“So I’m told.”
“You don’t talk much about your wife and daughter.” Nell knew she was running the risk of breaking the spell, but his reticence concerned her. “Would you tell me about them? About the accident?”
He picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “They don’t have anything to do with you.”
She could feel him shutting down, returning to a familiar, dark place. “But they do, Brady, if we’re to have any…uh…deeper relationship. They’ll always be part of you. Part of us.” She felt her courage slipping. “If there is going to be an ‘us.’”
Across the park at the lighted basketball court, a group of boys exchanged high fives and along the path in front of them came a lone man smoking a cigarette and walking his dog. Brady waited until he passed with a pleasant “Good evening.”
“Brooke was…a golden girl. She came to work for us right out of college. In the Human Resources department. Her smile could light up my day. She was intelligent, energetic, funny. And unbelievably, she liked me.”
Nell’s ears perked up at “unbelievably.” Had he thought so little of himself?
“I was a workahol
ic, driven to succeed, but she married me anyway. She never complained, at least not in any major way, and tried her best to be supportive. Then Nicole came along. I couldn’t believe how lucky we were to have a good life, more money than we could ever need and a perfect daughter.” His voice wavered. “Nicole was so darn cute. Bright and pretty. And she thought I was special.”
“You are,” Nell murmured.
Lost in his reminiscence, Brady didn’t seem to hear. “I’ll never forgive myself for not paying more attention to them. For letting my need for success get in the way. I told myself I was working for our family, but the truth was, I needed the ego boost.”
“You couldn’t have known what would happen. At the time, you were doing your best for them.”
He laid both arms along the back of the bench, threw his head back, then sighed. “No, I wasn’t. That night? The accident?”
When she turned to look at him, his eyes were focused on a faraway, anguished memory. “I was supposed to be with them. If I’d been driving— Aw, shit.” He ran a hand through his hair.
She didn’t know how to help him. He had assumed a gigantic burden of guilt. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Oh, yeah, hindsight’s 20/20. It was an accident. It could happen to anybody. Believe me, I’ve heard all the rationalizations. Hell, I’m just a screw-up. That’s the story of my life.”
Self-pity didn’t become him, but Nell sensed there was more to it. Self-pity was indulgent, but he seemed genuinely wounded, and, if she was any judge, those wounds had origins in a time long before the accident. Out of the shadows, Abby’s question, the one Nell had avoided dealing with, surfaced. “What do we know about this Brady guy?” Oh, she knew the kinds of things a résumé would include, but she sensed there was more. That he was a deep man, one with secrets.
Secrets. Again her obligation to tell him hers surfaced. But not now. Not when he had pulled her into his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin. “Sorry about that maudlin display. That’s not what tonight’s about. This is.” He kissed her, and this time his lips moved hungrily, his tongue coupling with hers, and all she could do was bury her fingers in his hair and press her body against his, seeking to infuse him with all the pent-up longing she’d been denying.
