Brody returned in just under forty-five minutes bearing a box that smelled like heaven. Since she had cleaned up the kitchen already in preparation for leaving, she opted for paper plates and plastic cups.
They ate in an awkward silence that only increased in intensity as the minutes ticked by. Brody finished off his fourth piece to her two and drummed his hands on the table. “Tell me something, Cate.”
The bite of pizza stuck in her throat. “Okay.”
His mood was hard to pin down, somewhere between challenge and grumpiness, which was mighty strange for a man who had just had what Cate thought was the best sex of their relationship to date.
Since she couldn’t read him, she allowed the silence to build. Let him take the conversational lead.
Finally, he leaned his chair back on two legs in a familiar pose. “A while back I asked Granny to tell me why you came to Candlewick five years ago. She said if I wanted to know, I’d have to ask you myself.”
“I see.” Her heart sank.
“So I’m asking.” His beautiful cerulean eyes were stormy. His hands clenched in fists on the table.
The story didn’t paint her in a flattering light. Maybe if she admitted the truth he would finally understand that marriage was out of the question. Where to start? After a pause to gather her thoughts, she shrugged. “You remember I told you that my parents were killed in a car accident?”
“Yes.”
“It happened just as I started my first year of med school in southern California.”
His brows flew to his hairline. “You’re a doctor?”
“Not even close. I didn’t make it until Christmas, unfortunately.”
“What happened?”
“I fell in love.”
He went pale beneath his tan. “Oh? With another student?”
“No. One of my professors. He was young, charismatic. I’d been traumatized by my parents’ deaths. I was so damned lonely and vulnerable. It makes me sick to think about it. I was hungry for someone to care about me, Brody. How pathetic is that?”
He recovered some of his composure. “Makes sense, I suppose. You’ve told me your childhood left emotional wounds. With the tragedy on top of that, and you heading into a new environment... I guess I’m not surprised it was a hard time.”
“He was married, Brody. A wife and two kids on the other side of town. Nobody knew. Certainly not me.”
“Hell, Cate.” He looked genuinely ill.
“The affair had been going on from the end of September until almost Thanksgiving break. Then one day it all came crashing down. The wife showed up on campus. Pitched a huge screaming fit. The board demanded his immediate resignation. And I was just the poor stupid woman who had fallen for his lies. Gullible. Pitiful. I packed up my tiny apartment, loaded my car and never looked back.”
“Why Candlewick?”
“I did a real estate search for places as far away from the Pacific Ocean as I could imagine. Found the bookstore for sale. I had the life insurance money from my parents. This was the place I ran to...and meeting Miss Izzy was a bonus.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Some of his pallor lingered.
She shrugged, feeling twinges even now of shame and self-loathing. “You don’t have to say anything. The fact is, I’m a lousy judge of relationships. I won’t marry you, Brody. I thought I had found the love of my life, and it turned out to be a gigantic lie. I can’t go through that again. I like being on my own. It’s safer that way.”
Ten
Brody had never been more confused. Cate was having his baby. That gave him a moral imperative to try to create a family. Didn’t it? But he could hardly expect her to follow him to Scotland, not when she had baldly confessed that trust was hard for her.
As for Candlewick? There was nothing for him here, not one damned body of water bigger than a fish pond. Back in the Highlands he owned a whole fleet of boats, everything from sleek sailing vessels to tourist charters to workaday fishing trawlers. Water was his life. His ancestors had carved an existence from the icy waters of lochs and oceans.
The only alternative he could see was to work alongside his grandmother and try to help her as best he could. The prospect of never returning home to Scotland made him break out in a cold sweat. How had he let his life get so fucked up?
Unfortunately, the day deteriorated after Cate’s confession. They loaded up both cars and locked the store, making it up the mountain to Isobel’s home just before five. Unloading took another hour. Soon, Cate was ensconced in a luxurious bedroom just across the hall from Brody’s. His grandmother’s suite of rooms was at the far end of the corridor.
Was Isobel playing matchmaker? Surely not. She hadn’t been enthusiastic when Brody admitted he had more or less proposed to Cate.
For the time being, Brody’s grandmother had hired a young woman from the town to come in and prepare dinner each evening. The presence of another person in the house made it virtually impossible to carry on any kind of personal conversation during the meal.
After dessert, Cate pleaded fatigue and disappeared.
Brody shoved back from the table and ran both hands through his hair. “I don’t know if I can stay here, Granny. Maybe I should rent a place of my own for a few weeks.”
“What are you afraid of, Brody?”
He jerked back, mouth agape. “I’m not afraid of anything, damn it. You were the one who said I needed to give Cate some space.”
“Don’t curse at me, young man.”
“Sorry, Granny.” He felt his neck heat. “I can’t figure her out. Women are impossible.”
“I may be ancient, but I still remember what it was like when your grandda and I were keeping company. I thought he was an arrogant American ass.”
“Really?” Brody chuckled. “I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, aye. The upstart thought he could sweep me off my feet and shower me with presents. I sent him packing more than once.”
“How did he finally win you over?”
“He loved me,” she said, the words simple and direct. “When I understood that, everything was easy.”
Brody changed the subject awkwardly and spent the remainder of the evening pretending everything was normal when it was anything but. This house was not an unfamiliar place. He’d visited many times over the years. Still, it wasn’t home. Like a new shirt that didn’t fit exactly right, somehow he knew that Candlewick and even his grandmother’s beautiful and luxurious home were not where he was supposed to be.
Which brought him back to his original problem. What was he going to do about Cate?
He was still prowling the darkened hallways at midnight, unable to sleep, when he stumbled upon Cate raiding the refrigerator. She turned guiltily, her expression illuminated by the small appliance bulb, and tried to hide a piece of pie behind her back. “I thought everyone was asleep,” she said.
“I’m not the food police.” He kept his tone light. “Isn’t this the one time in a woman’s life when she’s supposed to be able to eat anything she wants, guilt-free?” He rummaged in a drawer for a couple of forks. “Come sit. I’ll join you if there’s more.” He hadn’t been interested in dessert earlier...too much on his mind.
“There’s plenty,” Cate said. “I love this new cook. Butterscotch meringue pie. Haven’t had anything like it since I was a child.”
They sat at the small table elbow to elbow. Neither of them opted for the overhead light. Instead, a small decorative Tiffany lamp cast just enough glow for them to see their plates. At first, they ate in silence. The pie filling was smooth and creamy, and the topping was exactly right.
Brody came up with a dozen sentences in his head and cast them aside. There was too damn much at risk for him to alienate Cate. At last, he set his fork on his empty plate and reached out to take one of her hands in his. She jerked, startled, wh
en he touched her, but she didn’t pull away.
“Cate...”
“Yes, Brody?”
She was wearing thin flannel pajama pants and a peach thermal top that made her skin glow. With her hair down around her shoulders, she looked far too young to be anyone’s mother.
He traced her knuckles. Her long, slender fingers were bare. “I know I said I wouldn’t push, but I’m torn, lass. Having us both live under this roof, given the circumstances, seems artificial at best. I want you, and I think you want me, but I can’t see us sneaking around like two teenagers. It’s disrespectful to Granny. I love her too much.”
“I completely agree.”
“So how do we get past the fact that I ache for you, Cate? Am I the only one?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. I feel the same way.”
“If you married me, we could share a bed and a life.”
Her expression was pained, her eyes dark with misery. “If you count the days we’ve actually spent together, Brody, we’ve known each other less than a month.”
“True.” He rubbed the heel of his hand against his brow where a headache pounded. “I understand what you’re saying. On the surface, the idea is ridiculous. But over the centuries, people have married for far less practical reasons. We like each other, Cate. And we have sexual chemistry in spades. We’ve created a baby who carries our DNA. Why can’t we give it a chance?”
“My doctors are here, Brody. And my health insurance. What would you do every day?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Help Granny with the business. Look after you.”
“Why is this so important to you?”
If he could answer that, his gut wouldn’t be in a knot. “Honestly?” he said. “I’m not entirely sure. But I can’t imagine walking away from you and our child, nor going back to Scotland and pretending my life is the same as it’s always been. It’s not the same, Cate. It can’t be.”
“What would you do about your boat business?”
Was he winning? Did he sense a softening in her? Elation filled his veins, but he tamped down his compulsion to press for the outcome he wanted. “Duncan is my partner. He’s been handling the financial side for some time. The man is a whiz with numbers. If I ask him, he’ll keep things running while I’m gone.”
“And then what?”
“Damn it, Cate. Can’t we make it up as we go along?”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “If I’m going to agree to this, it would have to be for a set period of time. Let’s say a year. We draw up legal documents that outline all the eventualities. After twelve months, if you go back to Scotland, the baby stays with me.”
He clenched his jaw so hard, his headache tripled. “You expect me to leave my bairn?”
“That’s why this won’t work, Brody. You think getting married will solve something.”
“It’s a start,” he said sullenly.
Suddenly, she grinned at him. “Wouldn’t it be easier to live in sin?”
“Is that some kinky American custom I don’t know about?”
“Oh, shoot. I forget you’re not from around here.”
“Are you casting aspersions on my intelligence?”
“Not your intelligence, Brody. Just your knowledge of American idioms. Living in sin is the same as shacking up.”
“Shacking up?”
“Is there an echo in here?”
“Say what you mean, Catie girl.”
She leaned a hip against the kitchen table, looking tired but incredibly sexy. “I don’t think abstinence is going to work for us. Miss Izzy is less of a traditionalist than you think. I’ll talk to her about it if you want me to.”
“No,” he said forcefully. The thought of having his lover discuss their sex life with his ninety-two-year-old granny freaked him out. “So let me get this straight. You won’t marry me, but you’re willing to fool around with a chaperone just down the hall?”
“Not a chaperone, Brody. Besides, she doesn’t hear a thing at night when she takes out her hearing aids.”
He put his hands over his face. “I’m in hell.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m the one whose body is going to morph into a giant whale.”
“Quit fishing for compliments. You’re gorgeous and sexy. I can’t look at you without wanting you. That’s not going to change just because you have a cute little pregnant belly.”
“It won’t be little for long,” she muttered.
He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, lingering over the caress until Cate squirmed. “Do ye think you can sleep now?”
Heavy-lidded eyes looked up at him. “Will you be there?”
He stood, drew her to her feet and curled an arm around her waist, urging her toward the hall. “Aye. But I don’t ken how much sleepin’ there’ll be.”
* * *
Three weeks passed in the blink of an eye. Cate felt as if she were living two separate lives. She followed her usual schedule at the bookstore Tuesdays through Saturdays. The work kept her mind occupied, and when shipments came in, the job was physically challenging, as well.
All the hustle and bustle was good because otherwise, she would have spent her time incessantly wondering if she was falling in love with Brody Stewart. She experienced all the signs. Increased heart rate. Butterflies in her stomach when he walked into the room.
The same urgent desire that had catapulted her into a physical relationship with a near stranger now bound her to him infinitely more. She liked him, and that was dangerous.
On Sundays and Mondays, Cate spent quality time with Miss Izzy. The moment had come, in the old woman’s estimation, to clean out her husband’s personal effects. The task was heart-wrenching and poignant. Cate helped sort clothing, but Isobel had to make the final calls.
A few things were set aside for the grandsons. A pocket watch. A well-used shaving set with sterling silver handles. Most of the items—the bulk of them—went to a local charity.
Cate didn’t know what Brody did all day every day, and she didn’t ask. She assumed he and his grandmother were dealing with things at the company headquarters. Isobel thrived having her grandson nearby, and she relished having Cate under her roof, as well.
The mundane routine of Cate’s daily activities was underscored with a breathless happiness. Brody came to her bed every night, but he always returned to his own room before dawn. It was doubtful they were fooling anyone. Still, Isobel didn’t challenge them. Even the housekeeper who cleaned twice a week couldn’t know for sure.
Cate and Brody’s lovemaking was at times tender and sweet. Other nights he took her forcefully, as if trying to prove without words that they were a couple. Cate told herself she was living on borrowed time. This pretend situation couldn’t last. Perhaps it was the pregnancy that enabled her to ignore all the ramifications lurking just beyond the bend in the road.
The pleasant fiction of her self-indulgent days was rudely ripped apart one afternoon in March. She had closed the bookstore early—given the lack of customers—and rushed up the mountain, eager to spend the evening with the man who was becoming far more to her than just the father of her unborn child, or even the lover who warmed her bed at night.
Brody was insinuating his way into her heart. His generosity and caring made her feel more special than anyone ever had. The man was almost unfailingly positive. He coddled her and showered her with gifts and made her feel sexy and desirable, even as her body bloomed with the changes of pregnancy.
The day that became a turning point gave no sign of what was to come. The only thing she could later recall was the old maxim that eavesdroppers rarely heard good of themselves. When she hurried through the house to find Brody and show him the stack of books she had ordered for the baby, she stopped short, just outside the den, when she heard her name.
Miss Izzy’s voice was
unmistakable. “Tell me, Brody,” she said. “Why is this marriage to Cate so important to you?”
Cate’s heart clenched in her chest, terribly afraid to hear his answer.
Brody’s reply was oddly weary. “I don’t know, Granny. Part of it is pride, I suppose. I don’t want people thinking I got Cate pregnant and didn’t do right by her.”
“So it’s about you and not the baby.”
“Not just that,” he said, definitely irritated by his grandmother’s prodding. “I want to be listed on the birth certificate as the father. I want the kid to have my last name.”
“And you don’t think Cate will accommodate your wishes regardless of your circumstances?”
“Maybe. I suppose.”
“Stewart men have always had a knack for thinking with something other than their brains.”
“Granny!”
Cate could almost feel Brody’s face flushing.
Isobel chuckled. “It’s understandable. You’ve helped create a new life. But I have to ask you, dear boy. Do you love Cate?”
Where Cate stood, the pause seemed to last forever.
At last, Brody replied. “I think I could love her. We only met a few months ago, and I was gone for most of that. But when we’re together...”
He trailed off.
Isobel didn’t mince words. “You want her, Brody. And you feel possessive. But it’s not enough. Once lust and desire transmute into something less urgent, you have to have more. To sustain a marriage, there has to be a foundation of some kind, something more than physical.”
“Or I’ll end up like Mom and Dad.”
Isobel snorted audibly. “Your parents are both wonderful people—individually. Unfortunately, their relationship turned toxic, and you and Duncan became collateral damage.”
“I don’t want to fail at marriage.”
Cate forced herself to enter the room, even though her stomach heaved and she felt like throwing up. “That’s why we’re not getting married.” She gave Isobel as much of a glare as she could muster for her petite, elderly friend. “I appreciate your concern, Miss Izzy, but this is between Brody and me.”
His Heir, Her Secret (Highland Heroes Book 1) Page 9