In his office Sara Lynn regarded him warily, while the stranger, Daniel Featherstone, grabbed his hand and pumped it enthusiastically.
“You’re not going to regret this,” he claimed.
Kevin glanced at Bobby Ray. “Oh, really,” he said wryly.
“Everything was spelled out in those contracts I left for you,” Bobby Ray reminded him. “You’ve looked them over, right?”
“I looked them over,” Kevin confirmed. Bobby Ray had managed to tailor the deal in his own favor without it being obvious. Too bad he hadn’t used that business acumen in some of his other pursuits.
“It’s a great deal, right?” Featherstone enthused. “Bobby Ray and I are going to get rich.”
Kevin doubted it, but the prospect of arguing with the man hardly seemed worth the effort. He regarded Sara Lynn intently, then exchanged a pointed look with Bobby Ray. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure,” his cousin insisted, keeping his gaze fixed on his wife.
Kevin sighed and pulled out the checkbook for the estate account. He scribbled in the exorbitant amount Bobby Ray needed to hang on to his wife, then handed it over. Everybody beamed, including Sara Lynn. Kevin scowled back.
“Out!” he ordered. “Now.”
Sara Lynn and her friend didn’t waste a second bolting from the room. Bobby Ray lingered.
“Thanks, Kevin.”
“Don’t thank me. I just pray you won’t live to regret it. For the life of me, I can’t figure out how you can choose a woman like that over Marianne.”
For an instant Bobby Ray’s expression turned wistful, then the flash of vulnerability was gone, replaced by his more typical cocky expression. “You always did have a soft spot for Marianne, Kev. Get over it. I did.”
For the first time in all the years since the messy divorce, Kevin wondered about that.
The meeting left him in a foul mood for the rest of the morning. He yelled at Molly, snapped at Aunt Delia, and told his secretary in Richmond not to bother him with things she could handle herself.
Why was he in such a lousy mood and taking it out on everyone around him? He knew better than to lay all the blame on Bobby Ray. The bulk of it belonged to Gracie.
Blame it on that smoldering kiss they’d shared right before he’d walked out on her. Blame it on the untimely call from Max and the promise—no, threat—of Max’s visit.
Blame it, ultimately, on the fact that he was losing his head over a woman he barely knew. He sighed and sipped his lemonade, wishing for once that it was something stronger, something that would dull his mind and make this hot ache in his loins go away.
“Okay, young man, what has you in such a snit?” Aunt Delia demanded, standing next to him, hands on hips and fire in her eyes.
Kevin opened one eye and peered at her. The effect of all that indignation was ruined a bit by the whimsical addition of a hot pink baseball cap someone had given her from the Saratoga racetrack and her matching hot-pink sneakers.
“Go away,” he ordered.
She stood her ground and impaled him with a blistering look. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. It’s one thing for you to bark at me or Bobby Ray, but Molly and that sweet lady in your office don’t deserve it.”
“I know it,” Kevin conceded with a sigh. “I’ll apologize. I’ll buy Molly that new food processor she wants and I’ll send Jane flowers.”
“And I’m sure they’ll appreciate the gesture, but I’d prefer it if you’d just tell me why you’re in such a mood.” She regarded him craftily. “Is it Gracie? Did you two have a fight?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you. You were always a lousy fibber, Kevin Patrick. What’s Gracie done to upset you?”
He sat up with an air of resignation. “You aren’t going to leave this alone, are you?”
“No,” she said as emphatically as he had a moment earlier. She sat in a nearby Adirondack chair, folded her hands in her lap and regarded him patiently.
“Gracie’s having company,” he finally said.
“I see.”
“Her old boss. She thinks he’s just coming to try to persuade her to come back to work for him.”
“And you disagree?”
“The man has invented more crises than the Middle East has had since the beginning of time.”
“Maybe he depended on Gracie.”
“I’m sure he did. In fact, I know he’d be crazy if he didn’t want her back running that hotel of his.”
“Are you afraid she’s going to go?”
“Of course not. It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other whether she goes.”
“Nonsense. Of course, it matters. Any fool could take one look at you and see that it does.”
“I’m telling you I don’t give a damn what she does,” he repeated, as if saying it often enough could make it so. “I just don’t want her to get bamboozled into thinking that Max only wants her for her competent brain.”
“What makes you think he’s interested in something more?”
“Other than all those lame excuses he’s come up with for calling every day? I heard it in his voice.”
“You’ve talked to him?”
“Damn straight I’ve talked to him. I answered the phone the other day while he was leaving a message about our podunk little town.”
Aunt Delia grinned. “Yes, I can see why that might set you teeth on edge. What did he say to you?”
“Not too much, really. He seemed surprised, maybe a little irritated.” He paused thoughtfully. “Obviously he was a lot more than irritated since he’s flying over here to protect his turf, so to speak.”
“I’d say he must have responded to you picking up that call the same way you’re reacting to the news of his impending arrival,” Aunt Delia observed slyly.
Kevin scowled at her. “You don’t know everything, you know.”
“Sure, I do. I’m old. I’ve been around.”
“Oh, really? I thought you were a sweet, innocent spinster.”
“Show a little respect for your elders and don’t try to change the subject. What is it you’re really worried about? Are you scared this Max is going to win, that Gracie’s going to pack up and go back to France with him?”
“Okay, yes. The thought has crossed my mind,” he admitted reluctantly.
She shook her head, scowling at him with impatience. “Kevin Patrick Daniels, I am surprised at you. You are the most confident man I’ve ever known. Surely you’re not scared to compete with this Max person.”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “I just don’t know if I should.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not as if I have an alternative to offer her.”
“You could propose,” she suggested.
He stared at her incredulously. “Are you nuts? I’ve already got more people depending on me than I can cope with. How can I ask any woman to share that?”
“Maybe she wouldn’t view it as a burden at all. In fact, maybe having her in your life would lighten your load, give you more strength.”
“I am not going to ask Gracie MacDougal to marry me and put up with Bobby Ray and all the others, so you can just get that crazy idea right out of your head.”
“If you say so.” She hesitated, her expression thoughtful before she finally said, “You could sell her the house. That would keep her here.”
“I’m not selling her the damn house, either,” he retorted, walking away.
Delia watched him go, then smiled to herself. Everything was moving along quite nicely.
Gracie no more wanted Max Devereaux in Seagull Point, Virginia, than she wanted to dye her hair pink and take up skydiving. Unfortunately, his arrival seemed inevitable. He’d bought plane tickets three days earlier, rented a car and, if she knew Max, had enough maps to guide him through the most uncharted territory on earth. Max was a very methodical man. Like it or not, he’d be at her house before nightfall.
She might not have bee
n half so worried about his upcoming visit if there hadn’t been this nagging little suspicion that Kevin was right and Max wanted more from her than instructions on dealing with French tradesmen. He’d been awfully persistent for a man who only wanted to know how to get the hotel toilets cleaned efficiently.
The knock on her door jolted her. It couldn’t possibly be Max already. His plane had barely touched down a half hour ago. She knew. She’d checked, hoping it had been diverted to Alaska. She doubted it was Kevin. He’d made himself scarcer than hen’s teeth ever since he’d kissed her silly and walked out a few nights before.
The doorbell chimed again, a trifle impatiently, it seemed to her. She opened the door and stared at the woman on the front porch. She was slender and made up as artfully as if she’d just come from the cosmetics counter in some very exclusive shop. Her hair, which had been streaked with blond highlights by an expert, shimmered in the morning sun. Its upswept style could not possibly have been created anywhere other than a very fancy salon. Gracie would have bet it was a two hundred dollar hairdo, minimum.
She might have moved on to stare at the clothes—definitely off a designer rack—if she hadn’t been caught off guard by the grin. It was a feminine version of the one she’d spotted all too often on Kevin’s face.
“Can I help you?” she asked instead.
“I’m Helen Monroe, Kevin’s cousin. Has he mentioned me?”
Gracie shook her head, which only broadened that smile.
“It figures. I’m the good cousin. I’ll bet you’ve heard all about Bobby Ray.”
Gracie couldn’t resist grinning back. “As a matter of fact, Bobby Ray’s name has come up a time or two. He and I have met.”
“Yes, well, Bobby Ray can be a trial. I can say that because he’s my baby brother. May I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” Gracie stepped aside, then followed Helen into the living room. She seemed to have an unerring sense of where to go. “Have you been here before?”
“In this house? Oh my, yes. My best friend used to live here during the summer. Of course, that was years ago. She married a plastic surgeon and moved to Los Angeles. Hasn’t been seen on this coast since.”
“Turned into a snob, did she?”
“Either that or she’s gotten fat and lazy and doesn’t want us to see. I prefer to think it’s the latter.”
Gracie chuckled. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’ll bet you have lemonade, right?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. What made you think I would?”
“It’s Kevin’s favorite.”
Gracie went absolutely still. It sounded as if Helen Monroe had gotten some very bad information about her relationship with Kevin. “Mrs. Monroe, I don’t know what you’re thinking—”
“It’s Helen, and I’m thinking that it’s about time someone came along and turned Kevin’s life upside down, someone other than one of his relatives, that is.”
“I am not turning Kevin’s life upside down, not intentionally anyway.”
“That’s even better,” Helen said.
“Is that why you came by? To give me your blessing?”
“Curiosity, actually. I’ve been wondering about all the rumors.”
Gracie handed her the lemonade before her shaking hand managed to spill it all over the just scrubbed kitchen floor. “Rumors?”
“About you and Kevin.”
“Exactly what rumors are we talking about?” she asked, her tone flat and—if Helen had only been listening—deadly.
The woman waved off the question. “Nothing to worry about. It’s a small town. People talk. Maybe speculate a little.”
“Speculate about what?”
“How long it will take him to catch you or vice versa.” She grinned. “You have to understand, Kevin has been inspiring this sort of speculation for years. Something told me, though, that this time might be different.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he actually gave Bobby Ray some money for one of his outrageous schemes. That suggests he’s either very mellow or very distracted. Either way, there had to be a woman behind it. You’re the obvious candidate.”
“And you wanted to see what I was like?”
Helen shot her an unrepentant grin. “Like I said, curiosity.”
Gracie wanted to be furious. She had a feeling under other circumstances she might have been, but she couldn’t help liking Kevin’s cousin. There was nothing devious or sneaky about her. She was blatantly nosy and not the least bit apologetic about it. She was also polished and sophisticated and just sassy enough to be a more than even match for any man.
Struck by an inspiration, Gracie checked for a wedding ring. To her relief, Helen wasn’t wearing one. Yes, indeed, Helen Monroe would be a more than even match for a man like Max Devereaux. With any luck she could keep her around for another couple of hours.
Gracie beamed at her. “More lemonade?”
“You’re not kicking me out?” Helen asked, clearly surprised.
“Heaven’s no,” Gracie assured her, thinking that there was another little matter about which Helen might prove helpful. “Now that you’re here, maybe you can fill me in on that house Kevin refuses to discuss with me.”
“House?” Helen repeated in the worst attempt at feigning innocence on record.
“Yes. It’s an old Victorian, right on the river just a few blocks from here. Kevin manages it, though he does a lousy job of it from what I’ve seen.”
Polished, sophisticated Helen Monroe actually squirmed ever so slightly. “I don’t really keep up with Kevin’s business affairs.”
Gracie sighed. “You’re not going to discuss it, either, are you?”
Helen smiled. “Sorry. Family loyalty and all that. I have no idea why Kevin’s keeping mum about that house, but I have to respect his decision.”
“And I suppose I should admire you for that,” Gracie conceded glumly. “I really want to know more about that place.”
“Have you met Aunt Delia?”
Gracie shook her head. “No, who’s she?”
“Actually, she’s Kevin’s great-aunt on his mother’s side, but all the rest of us claim her, too. She’s a wonderful woman. I’m amazed you two haven’t met.”
“I was only at Kevin’s the one time, and most of our conversation took place in the yard while he lazed in a hammock.”
“Yes, Kevin does love that hammock. He claims he does his best thinking there.”
“It must get chilly out there in winter or does his mind take a sabbatical?”
Helen chuckled. “I like you, Gracie MacDougal. You may be precisely the breath of fresh air this stale, dysfunctional family needs.”
“I told you, there is nothing going on between Kevin and me,” Gracie protested.
“That’s what you think,” Helen countered. Her expression turned gleeful. “In my experience, romance is all the more fascinating when neither party expects it to erupt into fireworks.”
Gracie thought of the flares and rockets that had already gone off. She couldn’t deny, at least not to herself, that the possibility of an entire, spectacular display was more than likely. That was hormones, though, not emotions. She might not be the most experienced woman on the face of the earth, but even she recognized the distinction.
She couldn’t prevent Helen or the rest of the town from speculating about her and Kevin, but she could turn the tables on her guest.
“Obviously you think you know me pretty well,” Gracie said. “However, I don’t know a thing about you. Tell me about yourself, Helen. Are you married?’
Helen’s expression sobered at once. “Widowed,” she said softly. “I married early and we were together for fifteen wonderful years before Henry’s tragic death.”
Regretting the impulse to snoop, Gracie said, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s okay. Henry died three years ago and I’m getting on with my life slowly but surely. The last thing he told me b
efore he died was that he didn’t want me pining away for him for the rest of my days.” She smiled ruefully. “Not that I ever did what he told me to.”
“This time, though, his advice was sound,” Gracie said. “You should take it.”
“I just don’t know if I’ll ever find anyone who could make me as happy as he did. He was a remarkable man.”
As if Gracie had planned it, the doorbell rang again, this time with a distinctive hint of impatience. Max, no doubt.
“Excuse me. I’m expecting company.”
“Your friend from France,” Helen guessed.
“My, my, word does travel fast, doesn’t it?” Gracie replied as she went to the door. Opening it, she found Max on the threshold, dressed impeccably as always, every hair in place. No one could have guessed that he’d been on a plane for hours before making the two-hour drive down from Dulles Airport.
“Gracie,” he said, his gaze surveying her from head to toe, his scowl revealing his reaction to her tight blue jeans, loose T-shirt and bare feet.
She had meant to change, but maybe this was better. He was seeing her as she actually was—or as she was rapidly becoming. And she provided a startling contrast to the well turned out woman watching with blatant curiosity from the archway into the living room.
Helen glided—Gracie had never actually seen it before, but Helen accomplished it—toward Max as Gracie made the introductions. She saw the unmistakable flare of interest in Max’s eyes. She’d seen him regard a work of art with much the same appreciation for its beauty. He was definitely a connoisseur of fine things.
“Helen Monroe, this is Max Devereaux. Max, Helen.”
“It is my pleasure,” he said, bending over her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles with continental flare.
Max was the only American Gracie knew who could do that without looking absurd. Helen seemed pleased, but not unduly stunned by the gesture. Gracie nodded with satisfaction, pleased that she wouldn’t be a knock-over. Max needed a challenge in his life, especially one who wasn’t her. She smiled brightly at the pair of them.
“Lemonade, anyone?”
Max stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
Amazing Gracie Page 15
