by Carol Rose
"Daisy, you're as bad as the women down at the Cut 'N' Curl," Elinor chided, leaning over to make a note on the stack of paper in front of her. "I'd think you'd have more maturity."
"I'm very mature," Daisy said with dignity, her sneaker-clad foot balancing on the pine-planked floor. "But I'm not dead, and neither are you."
"No, and I'm not interested in Cole Whittier," retorted Elinor.
Daisy's chair legs hit the floor. "Well, you should be," she declared with asperity. "Not only is he a darned near perfect specimen of manhood, he's also just the guy to help you with this mess about selling Oakleigh."
"Cole?"
"Yes, Cole," Daisy declared. "Who else has more experience with business in this town?"
"This is a real estate matter," Elinor stressed. "I can't imagine why Cole could have any reason to know the best price for a decrepit plantation house."
"You never know," exclaimed Daisy piously. "Answers have come from more unlikely places."
"Not in my experience," Elinor said dryly. "And I don't particularly want to ask Cole Whittier any favors."
"Why not?" Daisy questioned.
"I don't want to be obligated to him, that's all," Elinor said, turning away to look for a form on her desk.
"There are worse people you could be obligated to," Daisy proclaimed. "I knew Cole back when all he could afford to drive was a tractor, and I'd bet on his integrity in a minute."
"Oh, Daisy," Elinor sighed. "Don't tell me you're in favor of the factory being built in Bayville."
"Why shouldn't I be?" the older woman asked. "It'll be a godsend for this town." She looked at Elinor with understanding eyes. "The trouble with you is that you're afraid to trust any man."
"That's not true." Elinor straightened the papers on the table. "I just don't trust Cole. He's like the men my father used to work for, only he's better looking. From what I can see, the majority of big businessmen are driven by the lure of the almighty buck."
"Well, I think you're not giving Cole a chance," Daisy declared.
Just then, a movement in the front yard caught Elinor's eye as she glanced out the window.
"Darn it, Daisy," Elinor said, leaning forward to peer discreetly out the window, "you've conjured him up." Seconds later, footsteps could be heard on the gallery.
"Who?" Daisy joined her at the window. "Cole?"
"Yes, Cole." Elinor quickly straightened the piles of paper on the table, wishing she'd worn something more professional than stretch pants and a tunic this morning. A business suit might help her counteract the disastrous effect Cole seemed to have on her.
"Well, gosh," Daisy said as a knock sounded at the front door. "I wish I'd worn something nicer this morning."
Elinor threw her a fulminating glance as she stalked out of the office to answer the door.
Swinging back the heavy front door, she positioned a pleasant, neutral smile on her face, trying to ignore the sudden thundering of her heart.
"Good morning, Elinor."
He had the bluest eyes. "Good morning, Cole," she responded hoping her voice didn't sound unnaturally high.
Standing in the doorway with the light behind him, he looked altogether too appetizing, his hair gilded a burnished gold.
"Can I come in?" he prompted gently.
"Oh! Yes, of course," Elinor said flustered to realize she'd been staring. She stepped back, opening the door wider.
The front entry hall seemed to shrink with his presence. Elinor had read about that phenomenon, but had never before encountered anyone who had the power to alter her physical perspective.
Cole glanced around the hallway. "I can't get over what you've done with this house. When I was a kid the farmers used to store their tools in here."
"I know. There were a few still here when I moved in," she said absently, noticing for the first time the manila envelope in Cole's hand.
"Why don't we go into my office," she prompted when he made no move to disclose his business with her.
"Sure."
Cole followed her into what had once been the front bedroom. After painting the walls a soft, natural hue, Elinor had used several antiques mixed with contemporary upholstered pieces to create a professional, yet homey workspace.
"Why, Cole . . ." Daisy came forward as she greeted him with an arch, meaningful smile. "I never expected to run into you here."
Elinor glanced at Daisy sharply as Cole took the older woman's hand in a warm clasp. What on earth was Daisy up to?
"I'm delightfully surprised myself, Miss Daisy," he retorted.
"Don't ever call me 'Miss Daisy'," she told him, shuddering. "It makes me feel as old as Methuselah."
"My apologies," Cole said with a smile. "I don't know what I could have been thinking of. But you're much too charming to even be thinking about age."
Daisy simpered and then broke into a natural chuckle. "You always were a scamp."
"I don't know what you mean," Cole disclaimed modestly.
Elinor watched the two of them, hoping her outrageous friend wouldn't try to turn Cole's visit into something more than it was. Daisy had a matchmaking streak that unfortunately wouldn't die.
"Shall we sit down?" Elinor gestured to a seating arrangement in the far corner.
"So what did you stop by for?" Daisy asked, maneuvering the seating so Elinor ended up on the couch with Cole.
His eyebrow flew up, laughter springing into his eyes in response to her forthright question. "I brought something for Elinor, if that's all right with you."
"Fine, fine," Daisy said airily. "Go right ahead. Don't mind me." She sat back, crossing her legs and staring off into the distance as if trying to appear invisible.
"Thank you." He turned to Elinor, holding out the manila envelope. "I brought you the prospectus on the factory."
"Oh, good. I'll take a look at it," she promised, glancing away from the warm look in his eyes.
"Cole," Daisy abruptly reentered the conversation. "Elinor needs your help with a problem."
"Daisy!" Elinor protested. "That's not true. There's no reason to involve Cole—"
"No, go ahead," he interrupted her with a lazy smile. "I'd love getting involved with you."
A sudden gurgle of squelched laughter escaped from Daisy.
"Thank you," Elinor returned frostily. "But I'm sure it's not necessary for us to be involved any more than we are."
He leaned forward, his face suddenly intent. "Oh, but it is for me. Necessary, I mean."
A shiver ran up Elinor's spine, leaving her hot and trembling inside. She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands.
"What's your problem, Elinor?" His voice had taken on the velvet timbre that stroked across her nervous flesh like an invitation.
Desperately seeking an escape, she glanced furtively at Daisy. Unfortunately her friend had gone back to pretending inattention. Sitting demurely on the loveseat, her gaze was fixed on the portrait on the wall as if she had no awareness of the conversation.
"It's not really a problem," Elinor hesitated, groping futilely for a way out of the untenable position in which Daisy had placed her.
"I'm pretty good at finding answers," he offered without vanity.
"This probably isn't in your area of expertise," she cautioned, weakening.
Cole chuckled. "That's never stopped me before. Go on, give me a shot."
Feeling backed into a corner, and yet reluctantly drawn to confide in him, Elinor took a deep breath. "My grandfather has received an offer to purchase Oakleigh and he's given me his power of attorney."
"His power of attorney to handle the sale?" Cole questioned, interest sharpening in his eyes.
Elinor shrugged. "He won't tell me whether to accept the offer or not."
"Oh, my!" Daisy bolted up from her chair. "Would you look at the time. I really have to run. More Peach Festival business to attend to. Don't forget your promise to help with the Ladies' Guild booth, Elinor."
"I won't forget," Elinor said dryly as her fri
end gathered her purse. "I'll talk to you later, Daisy."
"I'm going to be very busy with the festival. Don't bother getting up, I'll show myself out," the older woman said as she scurried out.
Cole watched their interchange, his mind sorting through the implications of Elinor's news. The old man was leaving the decision in her hands?
"She's really a hoot," Elinor said as the door closed behind Daisy.
"I've always liked her," Cole agreed before reverting to their discussion. "Tell me more about your problem with the contract on Oakleigh."
Elinor sighed sinking back into her corner of the couch. Her movement caused the turquoise knit of her tunic top to mold more snugly around her breasts. Cole's mouth felt suddenly dry.
Deliberately focusing on her face, he waited for her to continue. This was definitely not the time to let his hormones run away with him.
"My problem is," she announced dispassionately, "that I'm not sure if this is the best money my grandfather could get for Oakleigh." She told him the figure. "The house is all Daniel has and he needs to get enough from its sale to cover his expenses for the rest of his life."
"I see." Cole stood up abruptly, walking over to stare out the side window. He hadn't offered top dollar on the house. No intelligent businessman ever did that on a first offer.
God, what a tangle. How could he advise her about this? He'd set himself the goal of buying Oakleigh, and he wanted to get it at a reasonable price. His father's years of low-paid devotion in maintaining the place ought to count for something.
"Have you checked with any of the local real estate people?" he asked her finally, turning to face her.
"No." Elinor shook her head. "I don't think any of them have experience with an historical property like this. There aren't that many plantation houses in this area. Besides, I don't want a lot of gossip. I'm not even sure that selling it is the best thing."
Cole walked back to where she sat, hating himself for having to deceive her. Even if he hadn't intended this development, he still couldn't excuse himself. He'd encouraged her to confide in him when he wasn't being completely honest with her. And eventually, she'd find out.
When the purchase of Oakleigh was finalized, his identity would be known.
"It must be difficult to think of selling your heritage," he ventured, very aware of how alone they were here in the silent cottage. Her scent was everywhere. It had played insidiously on his senses from the moment she'd opened the door.
"It's not like I grew up here," Elinor responded, looking embarrassed.
"No, but your father did."
She got up from the couch, bending to fidget with a pillow in the chair. Cole's gaze followed the shapely curve of her hip, the thin knit of her pants stretching as she bent.
"Growing up a Prescott of Oakleigh wasn't an advantage for my father," Elinor said.
"It wasn't?"
She smiled sadly. "Everything else in his life was a come-down. He always felt like a failure."
"I'm sorry," Cole murmured. From the little she'd let slip, her childhood hadn't been a picnic. He had a sudden, insane desire to make it up to her.
"Water under the bridge," she stated, shrugging again.
Standing there in her comfortable office with her tumble of dark hair and her honest eyes, her closeness called to him as powerfully as a seductress. And he couldn't understand why. Why did this woman affect him so intensely that he found himself questioning his goals?
He should refer her to a good real estate attorney. Cole knew two of them off the top of his head. But despite his twinges of guilt, he liked Elinor confiding in him. He didn't want to end that.
And if he didn't send her to someone else immediately, he'd have another reason to see her.
"I can have one of my attorneys check about the house's market value," Cole said, slowly moving closer to where she stood. "If you'd like."
"That would be very nice, Cole. I'd appreciate it."
The unguarded gratitude in her eyes pierced him, and wrapped one more thread of determination around his heart. Somehow he had to find a way to get Oakleigh, and Elinor Prescott. He knew troubled water loomed ahead. She was bound to be perturbed when she learned that he'd bought the house, but he'd deal with that when it happened.
***
"Elinor!"
She paused on the sidewalk, shading her eyes to look for whoever had called her.
"Over here!" Cole's luxury sedan idled beside the curb. He waved her over.
Hoisting her bulging briefcase, Elinor slipped her foot back into her high-heeled pump. Cole had pulled into a loading zone, apparently unconcerned about traffic laws.
"Hello, Cole." She dropped her briefcase on the curb and leaned wearily against his car.
"My goodness, woman. You look worn out already and the day's just half over."
"Have you ever tried to explain a software program to a sixty-year-old bookkeeper?" Elinor asked him.
"Not that I recall."
"Well, it's enough to wear anyone out," she declared reaching down to pull off the pump again, one hand balancing on the car's hood. She'd just bought these shoes, and the salesman had sworn they could be worn comfortably for twenty-four hours straight. Elinor hated salesmen.
"You've been working too hard" Cole announced as he opened his door and got out. "What you need is a break, and I'm just the man to make it happen."
"To make what happen?" she asked with foreboding.
"Regardless of what you may think," he said ignoring her question, "this is not a chance encounter." He leaned toward her, his strong arms braced on the open car door. "I've been looking for you."
Elinor felt her mouth twitch. "For me?" she said doubtfully, fluttering her eyelashes.
"Yes, ma'am," he asserted firmly. "With your workaholic pace, you've been denying me my opportunity to influence your vote on my factory."
"Cole," Elinor began with real uneasiness. "I don't think . . ."
"Shame on you, Miss Prescott, for shying away from your duty." Cole placed his right hand over his heart and a soulfully patriotic smirk on his face. "Lobbying is the American way."
Elinor broke into laughter, her defenses dissolving under the onslaught of his silliness.
"What kind of lobbying do you have in mind?" she asked as he lifted her briefcase.
"Just a little trip," he said lightly, depositing the stuffed case in the backseat.
"Now, wait a second," she protested as Cole gently steered around to the passenger seat. "I don't have time for—"
"Lunch," he interrupted.
"Lunch? That's all?" Elinor peered at him through the open window as he closed her door.
Cole leaned closer. "We won't go any further than you want to," he promised softly, his eyes connecting with hers.
Elinor gulped as he walked around to the driver's seat. What the heck had she let herself in for?
"Exactly how far do we have to travel for this lunch?" she ventured to ask as they drove out of downtown Bayville.
"I figure ten years ought to do it."
"Ten years?"
He glanced away from the road his eyes scanning her briefly. "By my guess, you're around twenty-eight years old—"
"How kind of you to notice," Elinor commented her voice dry.
"—and that would mean you were eighteen, ten years ago—”
"A man with your math skills could have a future in accounting," she inserted with a smirk.
"—and since eighteen is a time of reckless innocence, I figured ten years back ought to do it," he concluded.
"Reckless innocence?" echoed Elinor hollowly.
"Yes." Cole reached over and patted her knee. "Nothing more rejuvenating than reckless innocence."
"Cole, I don't think . . ." Her voice trailed off as she encountered another of his amused smiles.
"Don't be a chicken, Elinor."
She fought the sudden urge to fidget. Somehow, that lowered, velvet voice of his always slipped through her defenses.
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They traveled down a bumpy dirt road, heavily shaded with oak trees, and turned at last into a long-abandoned drive.
"The Lanier place?" she questioned. "We're having lunch here? No, wait. Don't tell me. You've already sold some of the property to McDonald's."
Cole chuckled as he turned off onto a rutted trail that ran along the river. "No, my dear. It's worse than that." He brought the car to a stop several yards from the river.
Elinor opened her door and climbed out, taking a deep breath of fresh spring air, her eyes roaming over the ever-soothing landscape.
Long ago, this part of the property had been the gardens surrounding a small plantation home. The house, a victim of fire, was no longer there. But the gardens still bloomed with azalea, crepe myrtles, and camellias, making the air soft with scent. This spot had been Elinor's Eden since she'd moved to Bayville.
"It's glorious, isn't it?" Cole called out as he slammed the trunk. He came to where she stood. "The perfect spot for a classic picnic."
"Picnic?" Elinor glanced away from the river to find him spreading a thick blanket under a huge live oak. A large covered basket sat on the ground next to him.
"Yes, madam," he replied with a proper British accent as he pulled a linen tablecloth out of the basket with a flourish. "We have everything required for the occasion. Delicacies for the lady's palate, appropriate dinnerware," he enumerated, placing china and matching cutlery on the tablecloth. "Even crystal goblets for the nonalcoholic wine."
"Nonalcoholic wine?"
A glinting smile lit his face. "Of course. We wouldn't want you to say I seduced your vote," he stressed the last word, "by unchivalrous means."
At this point, it wasn't her vote she was worrying about being seduced.
"How principled of you," Elinor commented as she sat down on the blanket, succumbing to the lure of the setting.
"I am nothing if not principled," Cole declared as he set out covered crystal dishes.
Elinor's mouth watered at the delicious smells emanating from them. "Since I'm about to eat your food," she commented, beginning to serve herself, "I'll let that pass unchallenged."