“I’ll take these things upstairs,” he announced abruptly.
He grabbed the bags and bounded up the creaking, narrow stairs. When he came back down, he found Mrs. Berringer stuffing a canapé into her mouth and Lanie in the middle of what sounded like a history of the house.
“Then after my grandmother died, I took over the business,” she was saying. “The house was in bad shape, and my grandmother had let the business slide in her later years. I was too attached to the house to leave it, since it’s been in my family from the time it was built, around the turn of the century. I couldn’t bear to let it go. It’s very much a work-in-progress at this point. The exterior of the house still needs a lot of attention, and not all of the interior rooms have been restored. But I’m hoping to get another guest room opened soon so I can be at full capacity.”
Garrett stood near the fireplace. He listened, watching Lanie sitting there in her sunshine dress with her golden waves, her foal eyes and her big smile as she talked about the house she obviously loved.
She seemed so genuine. So innocent.
Could she really be the scheming con artist Walter believed her to be?
Garrett cocked his head, frowning, frustrated by the opposing images in his head. She was responsible for tearing a son from his father. He shouldn’t let himself forget that.
“The two of you must be very proud,” Mr. Berringer said to Lanie. The older man swiveled his head around to take in Garrett. “Home renovation is hard work.”
Garrett arched a brow at Lame. Obviously the Berringers had assumed he was Lanie’s husband. He expected her to disillusion them immediately.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed simply. She raised her gaze from Mr. Berringer, but she didn’t look at Garrett. He followed the direction of her study as it swept past him.
He turned his head toward the mantel over the replace. A small framed picture of Ben and Lanie stuck out from amidst the brass candleholders and knickknacks positioned there.
It wasn’t a formal picture. Instead, the photograph showed a casual, sunlit scene, Ben and Lanie walking together barefoot on a beach, hand in hand, staring at each other, their eyes shining.
Garrett couldn’t take his gaze off the photo. He only turned when he realized the Berringers were speaking to him, asking him something.
“What?” he asked.
“We were just wondering where a good place to eat around here was,” Mr. Berringer repeated. He was standing now. Mrs. Berringer lumbered up behind him.
Garrett shook his head. “I don’t—”
“There’s a lovely, intimate little restaurant on the town square,” Lanie said, rising as well, using her arms to push herself up, the strain in her face revealing the effort involved in mobilizing her burdened frame. Garrett barely resisted helping her. She wouldn’t want his help, and he knew it “It’s quite historic, and the food is wonderful.”
“That sounds like just the ticket.” Mr. Derringer smiled back. He took his wife’s arm. “I believe we’ll just freshen up a bit and be off to the restaurant. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’ll show you to your room,” Lanie offered and led the way upstairs. She continued her discourse on the house, pointing out the octagonal-shaped stained-glass window at the foot of the stairs. “That’s original to the home. The design was created by my great-grandmother...” Her voice filtered away as she mounted the stairs.
Garrett paced the parlor, thinking about Ben and Lanie, and the picture with shining eyes.
The image was out of sync with the impression Walter had painted. Walter was certain Lanie was out for a piece of the Blakemore fortune, that she’d snared Ben for the sole purpose of gaining the money he could one day inherit. That it was she who had prevented Ben from returning to the fold, and when he’d died and she’d lost her ticket to the Blakemore wealth, she’d come up with a pregnancy to get it back.
Hadn’t money been what Vanessa had wanted in the end? What proof did Garrett have that Lanie didn’t want the same thing?
Even though Vanessa had been the one to break their vows, Garrett’s wife had been all too quick to hire a high-powered divorce lawyer and take the biggest settlement she could get.
Why should Lanie be different, despite her assertions of not wanting anything from the Blakemores? Her facade of innocence could be nothing but a smokescreen. After all, renovations had to be costly, and this old house still needed a lot of work. A lot of money.
With a baby—a baby she claimed to be a Blakemore heir—she held the key to the treasure, didn’t she?
If she was telling the truth, that would be. As long as she refused to submit the child to testing, it would remain an if.
Not knowing whether or not he did have a grandchild, Walter would have no peace. And neither would Garrett.
The scent of springtime and apples teased into his thoughts, and he turned, knowing she was there even before he saw her. She said nothing to him, heading straight for the tray of refreshments. She picked it up.
“They thought I was your husband,” Garrett said quietly.
Lanie straightened, tray in hand. “I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell them I wasn’t?”
She gave a nearly imperceptible shrug of one bare shoulder. “It didn’t seem important. Why explain? They won’t be here long.” Her gaze squared on his.
And neither will you.
He could almost hear her add that last line in her thoughts.
“I appreciate your help tonight” was what she did say. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I hope you have a good night’s sleep and a safe trip back to Austin in the morning.” Her voice was dismissive yet polite. “Good night.” She turned away, moving toward the kitchen.
He looked back at the photograph on the mantel. “Wait,” he said.
She stopped, pivoting slowly. She stared at him.
He picked up the photograph, studying it again for a long moment before lifting his gaze to her.
“When was this picture taken?”
“After we were married, we drove down to the Gulf. We spent a weekend there, our honeymoon.”
A cloud of unreadable emotion shuttered her eyes. He wondered what she was thinking, remembering. Feeling.
He waited another long minute. “Why did you marry him?” he asked her suddenly.
He didn’t think she was going to respond. He held his breath, an ache inside begging for the truth—and wondering if he’d know it if he heard it.
“I loved him,” she said finally, almost on a whisper. And then the only sound in the room was the soft whoosh of the swinging kitchen door as she disappeared.
Garrett stared after her, then down again at the photograph. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before he realized the fact of what he felt—suddenly, illogically—toward his cousin.
Envy.
Chapter Four
It was not much more than a breath, a sharp intake of air, but the sound from outside his door roused him from the floating half sleep he’d been in for most of what had seemed like a long, long night.
Garrett fumbled in the predawn pitch-black of his room for the lamp switch on the nightstand, blinking in the bright glare when he found it. He’d been unable to rest well and deep, not sure whether to place the blame on the unfamiliar surroundings or the proximity of the beautiful, mysterious Lanie.
But he did know by the soft sound he’d heard coming from her, that something was wrong. That he was in some strange, unwanted way tuned in to a woman he didn’t even trust
Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he stood and strode to the door across the polished wood floor. He opened it quickly, the shaft of light slicing outward into the hallway.
Lanie leaned against the wall near the stairs in a long white gown, her hands splayed over her middle. Her glossy hair spilled around her, shielding her face as she bent forward.
“Lanie? What’s wrong? Is it the baby?” Panic pounded through Garrett’s veins. He ru
shed to her, slipped his arm automatically around her back, tried to bring her to an upright position.
“No, don’t, I can’t move right now,” she whispered, her voice taut.
Garrett let go of her, feeling at a loss for what to do next. “Should I call the doctor?” he questioned nervously after a minute.
She looked up at him finally, her eyes huge and dark, her face ashen. “It’s passed. It’s nothing. I’m all right.”
“It didn’t look like nothing to me.” It had looked like horrible pain to him. And he hated seeing her in pain; he instinctively wished he could soothe it.
He was a problem solver in his daily business, accustomed to stepping into a situation, making decisions, ordering strategy. He couldn’t do anything about Lanie’s pain. And it made him feel uncomfortably inadequate and lost.
“Dr. Furley said I might have erratic contractions, that it doesn’t mean anything unless it keeps up. This is just more false labor.”
She crossed her arms, the movement causing the neckline of her gown to gape and the soft-looking mounds of her breasts to press upward. The tantalizing shadow of cleavage deepened, and he caught himself staring.
“Are you sure?” he managed to ask, focusing on her pale face, wishing he could believe his mind was this rattled because of lack of rest—not because of the vision of Lanie’s generous curves. He wasn’t a man who leered at women, and he was more than a little ashamed of himself because that was exactly what he’d just done. And she was pregnant to boot, for Pete’s sake.
“Yes,” she answered. “I’m fine, really. Please go back to bed. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“I wake early, anyway,” he insisted. “What are you doing up?”
“This is a bed and breakfast. Get it?” She quirked a brow.
He smiled. He could see she’d gotten her attitude back, so he figured she had to be telling the truth about feeling better.
“Well, I’m awake. You might as well put me to work. What can I do to help?” She might be feeling better again, but it bothered him to think of her working. He noticed the subtle purplish shadows beneath her eyes.
“I don’t need help.”
“You should be resting. You don’t look like you got a wink of sleep last night.”
“It’s hard to sleep when you’re carrying around a beach ball in your middle,” she said dryly. “But I’m used to it, so don’t worry about me.”
Her fragile strength struck him again. He was impressed and frustrated all in one shot.
“What can I do to help?” he repeated.
Her mouth tightened. “Leave town?” she suggested with a sweetness that didn’t fool him.
The hall was silent. A clock somewhere in the lower reaches of the old house ticked loudly into the thick stillness.
“I’m sorry.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, closed them briefly. “I don’t want to sound rude,” she said then, dropping her hands. “You’re right, I’m tired. But that’s not why you’re offering to help me. You have ulterior motives. And I’m too tired to deal with them right now, okay? The best way you can help me, honestly, would be to leave me alone. Please.”
Garrett stared at her. She was right, he had ulterior motives. And he wasn’t quite sure of what those motives were anymore. He wanted to get her to agree to the testing, but was that all he wanted?
He didn’t know the answer to his own question, though he could see how much his presence was adding to her stress and pressure. That fact hit him hard suddenly, and he felt like a coldhearted jerk.
But hadn’t he come to Deer Creek specifically to pressure Lanie? Why was he feeling guilty now for doing exactly what he’d come to do?
“I promise I’ll leave after breakfast.” He compromised with himself as well as her. “But only if you let me help you.”
She sighed. “All right. But honestly, right now, all I’m going to do is get the dough started for the cinnamon rolls. If you want to come down in a couple hours, you can help me get set up then.”
He smiled. “Good.”
“I still have Ben’s things,” she said when he started to turn away.
Garrett stared at her.
“His clothes,” she explained. “I can get you a T-shirt, some shorts, so you have something to, uh, wear. I’ll just leave them outside your door.”
And that was when he realized he was standing there in her hall, having a conversation, in nothing but his briefs. It occurred to him that she didn’t look at all embarrassed. He was sure for a second that she actually looked...interested.
Then she turned around and walked away, and he wasn’t sure of anything at all.
Lanie punched the soft dough, turning the large bowl, punching again. And again. Harder. Working out the tight knots of frustration that clenched her muscles at the same time that she created the bread.
He was going to leave. So why was she still frustrated?
Because he still believed she was some kind of con artist? Or because of the way he’d made her feel in the hall when he’d stared at her with his dark, hard eyes? He’d noticed her. And she’d noticed him—his bare chest, strong legs, broad shoulders.
The way he’d stared at her hadn’t meant anything, she reminded herself. She’d probably imagined it. She looked like the side of a barn, and he was a handsome, virile man. Was she actually imagining for one single second that he could have been attracted to her?
She almost laughed, but a weird little lump in her throat turned it into a hard gulp. She recognized the bane of her pregnancy—hormones. Sniffling, blinking several times rapidly, she turned the dough for cinnamon rolls into a greased dish and covered it with a damp towel. She washed her hands, dried them, then went back upstairs, climbing the stairs with little energy.
She was just tired. Really tired. And a little bit scared. She hadn’t told Garrett the whole truth.
She’d been having contractions all night, erratic but sharp.
There was nothing to be done, no reason to panic, she kept telling herself. The contractions were irregular and widely spaced. The doctor had told her not to go to the hospital until the pains were much closer together. First-time moms were notorious for long labors, according to all the pregnancy guidebooks. So even if she did turn out to be in labor for real, she had time. She would get through the morning by sheer willpower. She would see the Berringers—and Garrett—off. Then she would get to the hospital, even if she had to call someone to help her—one of her friends or an ambulance.
The most magical thing that had ever happened to her was discovering she was pregnant after Ben’s death. She wasn’t going to let the Blakemores’ distrust and accusations spoil the joy of this day.
She didn’t want Garrett standing outside her hospital door, demanding tests.
His question from the night before came back to her. Why did you marry him? Was there any chance some small part of him had believed her answer?
He’d agreed to leave this morning and hadn’t said a word about the testing—that had surprised her. So had the softness in his eyes, his voice. She’d thought, for just a second, that he really cared.
It had felt nice. For just a second.
And that was exactly why she had to get him out of her house, out of Deer Creek, before she had this baby. She was afraid, terribly afraid, that his softness was a trick, a way to break through her defenses, take over her life—and her baby—before she knew what was happening.
She couldn’t afford to take that risk, let him under her skin.
Another contraction hit her in the shower. She squeezed her eyes tight and practiced the breathing exercises she’d learned in birthing class until the wave of pain passed. She dressed and packed a small bag of toiletries for the hospital, which she tucked in the corner of her room.
She dug out a T-shirt, shorts and shoes for Garrett from the boxes of Ben’s things she had in the attic. Garrett looked close enough to Ben’s size that she was sure they would fit. She left them on the floor outside his door.
Bright morning sunshine filtered through the lace curtains at the windows by the time she headed back downstairs. Her back ached unrelentingly. She wondered how she was going to manage if a contraction hit her in front of Garrett. Maybe she’d been so rude and unwelcoming, he would change his mind about helping her. Maybe he would just leave.
No such luck, she realized when he arrived in the kitchen right on schedule. The T-shirt stretched over his chest and shoulders, revealing every muscle. He looked so...different. Casual. Not the uptight businessman at all.
She stared at him, feeling weirdly as if she were seeing someone else entirely. Her whole image of Garrett Blakemore shifted and transformed. He looked human, approachable. Sexy.
“Good morning,” he said.
The crisp, clean smell of him nearly took over her senses. She backed up a few steps, away from his evocative maleness.
“Hi.” Ripping her gaze from him, she focused on her work. “Here, you can cut these up while I cook the eggs.” She pushed a cutting board, knife and a pile of apples and bananas down the counter toward him.
The sooner they got breakfast ready, the sooner he’d leave.
“All right.” He moved to the counter obediently and got down to work.
She slid the prepared cinnamon rolls into the preheated oven and started cracking eggs over a skillet on the stove. For several minutes the kitchen was quiet but for the strike of the knife on the cutting board and the sizzle of the eggs cooking in the pan.
Garrett glanced at Lanie, her back so stiff and straight. Her body language was unfriendly, to say the least.
“That was interesting, what you were telling the Berringers about how long this house has been in your family,” he said casually.
“My great-grandparents built it,” she said, pouring milk into the pan. She didn’t look back at him.
“Did you grow up in Deer Creek?” he asked.
“Mostly. I was born in Tyler. My parents died when I was two, and after that my baby brother and I came to live here with my grandmother.”
The Billionaire and the Bassinet Page 4