by Barbara Lohr
“Aw. Can I keep her?” Bella gazed up at Harper.
“Guess we’ll have to see what your dad says.” Harper had no clue, but she secretly hoped Cameron would relent. Bella and the puppy were so taken with each other.
They found him stowing their luggage into the back of the SUV. He did a double take. “What you got there, Pipsqueak?”
Harper held her breath. Could he see how much this meant to Bella? Trepidation darkened Bella’s eyes. “A puppy. Can I keep her, Daddy? Please?”
Hands on hips, Cameron sighed. “You’ll have to take him out, walk him. All that stuff.”
Harper smiled. She’d never seen Cameron weaken like this.
“Not ‘him,’ Daddy. She’s a girl. Oh, I will. I promise.” Bella tightened her hold on the puppy. “Thank you, Daddy. Oh, thank you!”
“What are you going to call her?”
“Pipsqueak,” Bella whispered.
Cameron laughed. “Sounds perfect.”
Before they even pulled out of the long rutted drive, Bella was asleep in the backseat, the snoozing puppy curled up in her arms.
“I appreciate your coming with me.” Cameron settled back like a load of tension had been left at that farmhouse.
“I wanted to be there for Bella.” Was it ridiculous to feel that Cameron had needed her just as much? “Do you go back home often?”
“Not unless I have to. Way too many bad memories.” He had the steering wheel in a strangle hold.
Harper thought back to the raucous Sunday afternoons with her brothers and McKenna when they’d watch NASCAR races or root for the Chicago Bears. Pretty relaxed compared to the tense interaction of the Blodgetts.
“When did you change your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“When I realized how the world works.”
She pivoted to face him. His hardened profile squeezed all the air from her lungs. Searching her purse, Harper took a couple draws from her inhaler. “And how does the world work?”
“I think you know, Harper. You’re the girl who worked for Rizzo. Maybe it’s different in Chicago, but I don’t think so. I didn’t want to scrub out a living on that dirt poor farm. Even if it took me forever to pay off my student loan, I was not going back.”
“But the people seemed nice.”
“You never met my father.”
“Was he like your mother?” She pictured a joyless, unrelenting couple.
Cameron’s lips tightened. Evening was falling, and their headlights threw two pools of light onto the highway. “You know how you flit around the house, singing your little songs and dancing? My mother cooked and cleaned, trying to live up to my old man’s expectations. Hardly a southern belle, my dear. We all missed his expectations by a mile and the boys especially did not escape the belt.”
Harper shivered. She could hardly imagine.
“My parents made it hard. My father was mean to Mama and mean to us. If the okra was undercooked and still sitting on our plates at the end of the meal, he rubbed it in our hair. Nothing she could do about it. I don’t ever want my little girl to know that kind of anger.”
The air had whooshed from her lungs, and Harper had to spend some quality time with her inhaler. Cameron may not think differently, but he’d carried the scars of his upbringing into that mansion on Victory Drive. He snapped on his playlist, and Billy Holiday filled the dark vehicle with songs that brought an ache to her heart.
Or had Cameron’s story done that?
~.~
Purple and yellow crocus sprang up in small clusters in the garden, a welcome relief after the dour sadness of the Blodgett funeral. Unfortunately, pollen spun through the air with every breeze.
“I’m keeping Bella inside for now,” Harper told Cameron. “The pollen is wicked. She doesn’t seem to be bothered by it—not at bothered as I am—but I don’t want to take chances.”
Harper was the one rubbing her eyes and reaching for her inhaler every two seconds. Bella was busy with Pipsqueak, and thank goodness the puppy didn’t seem to aggravate her breathing problem. If anything, the spells lessened. Bella slept with the puppy, even though the little dog had more than one accident. The large house seemed to confuse her. More than once, Harper had found the puppy alone and shivering in one of the rooms. After that, Harper kept Pipsqueak at her side when Bella was in school.
“The dog needs to be trained,” Cameron said when Harper mentioned the incident one Sunday.
“She’s just a baby.”
“Lily could have trained her before she handed her off.” Newspaper in hand, Cameron sat in his library wing chair. Since the funeral, he’d been withdrawn and preoccupied. Kimmy hadn’t come to Sunday dinner last weekend, and Harper sure didn’t miss her.
“I think Pipsqueak is a good addition to this house,” she told Cameron.
“Whatever you think, Harper. You’re in charge.”
“That’s a scary thought.”
His smile widened. “Sometimes I quite agree.”
Blushing, she grabbed the entertainment section and took it to the back porch where she could watch Bella toss a ball to Pipsqueak in the yard.
The following week, Connie called in an army of backup help for a thorough spring cleaning. Draperies were taken down and carted to the cleaners. Furniture was waxed until it gleamed, and every window became a shining mirror. Tarnish was banished from the heirloom silver, which Cameron grudgingly admitted had been purchased from an antique shop downtown. At Harper’s insistence, all the cleaning was accomplished without using any aerosol products that could worsen breathing problems.
On a Friday that promised to be especially busy in the house, Harper took Bella to the Marine Education Center on Skidaway, one of the islands that extended into the ocean on the eastern edge of Savannah. The nature trail through the woods was pleasant and Bella was excited beyond belief to see dolphins rising from the canal, gray backs shiny in the sunlight. The inside exhibits featured sea horses, jellyfish and even an alligator. The touch tank fascinated Bella. Harper lifted her to see the horseshoe and hermit crabs better.
“Do they live in the sand? How do they breathe?”
Harper was stymied. “Wish I had an answer, Bella.”
The soft pat on Harper’s hand came as a compete surprise. “You don’t always have to have the answer, Harper.”
“Now, that deserves a hug.”
Wrapping her arms around Bella, Harper realized this little girl had stolen her heart. The more she felt for Bella, the more difficult the job became. Caring so much for Bella wouldn’t end well. She’d had enough heartbreak, thank you very much.
Cameron continued his feeding sessions with Bella. One day after Bella had skipped out of the kitchen with Pipsqueak Harper decided to pose the question. “Cameron, did your wife ever, well, complain when she fed Bella? I’m just wondering where Bella’s concern comes from.”
His sigh could have been heard down on the river. “Not that I ever saw. But I’ve wondered the same thing, Harper.” His eyes met hers. “Tammy wasn’t exactly happy with the role of mother. And she hated my family. Wanted nothing to do with them. If Bella was just being a baby, her mama might have thought it was the Blodgett country ways coming out in her.”
By this time, his face had flushed an angry red and dampness rimmed his eyes. “Oh, Cameron,” she said softly, wanting to comfort him so badly and not knowing how.
Jumping up, he tucked the chair in with an abrupt scrape. “That was then. I think Bella’s making progress, don’t you.” His eyes begged her to say yes.
“She is. With your patience.”
“And yours.” His words hung in the air. Silence settled. Their eyes seemed to be doing all the talking. Thank goodness Connie bustled into the room and Harper escaped, her heart beating so fast, she was sure the whole neighborhood could hear.
After that being around Cameron became incredibly difficult. If he entered a room, Harper exited. He took her breath away, literally. She wondered what a doctor would
say. “Yes, you have hot employer syndrome, Ms. Kirkpatrick.” Trying not to make it obvious, she struggled with her feelings. Then it hit her.
She didn’t know when or how but she’d fallen in love with Cameron Bennett. And this felt so different than anything she’d ever experienced. Good grief, they hadn’t even kissed—the very thought made her weak. She loved him. Her feelings terrified her.
When Harper and Bella got home from the Marine Education Center one day, Connie was bustling around the kitchen, Pipsqueak yapping at her heels. The housekeeper had bought low country shrimp and was stirring up a hot sauce with plenty of horseradish, just the way Cameron liked it. “He won’t make it home for dinner. So busy with that Winston Hill project. Do you think maybe you can take this over? Bella will be fine with me.”
Fifteen minutes later, Harper was on Drayton headed for the Victorian section of town. She was eager to see how the work was progressing. This was the project they’d talked about weeks ago, and he’d taken her sketches with him. The plans might be rolled up in a forgotten tube somewhere. Still, excitement bubbled in her chest. The cooler of shrimp and sauce sat on the seat next to her. Finally, she would see Cameron at work.
She sure hoped he wouldn’t be there alone.
Chapter 22
Harper drove through the district of homes with high gables, elegant porticoes and porches with lots of spindle work. Many needed work. The city had been working to reclaim historical treasures in this area just south of downtown Savannah. Harper was all for it. She’d been involved in some of the efforts when she was in school. Now her tires bobbled over the cobblestone streets as she circled the block, trying to find a parking space. She passed Cameron’s black Bentley twice. Not hard to pick out the house with scaffolding in place and paint cans on the porch. Finally, she succeeded in easing the SUV into a tight parking space. Grabbing the small cooler, she jumped out and circled around to the back of the house.
Hammers rang out and Willie Nelson crooned about Georgia from a jambox. She pushed open the back screen door and it whapped shut behind her.
“Hi there. Can I help you?” A good-looking guy in a yellow hard hat was positioning a kitchen cabinet against a wall.
She held up the cooler. “Cameron Bennett?”
“Figures.” He jabbed a thumb toward the front.
After stepping over some two by fours and skirting a table saw, she walked through what would be the dining room into a front hall. Her footsteps rang on the plank floors. Still, no Cameron. Looking around, she tried not to breathe in the sawdust already tickling the back of her throat.
In front of the parlor bay windows sat a work table strewn with sketches. No mistaking Cameron’s handwriting. Her throat thickened when she recognized her own drawings mixed with his. Coming closer, she read, “Harper suggests moss green fabrics with warm taupe undertones.”
Holy cripes. He’d taken her seriously.
The cooler thumped to the floor. All her life she’d wanted to be more than the coddled youngest in her family. She skimmed her fingertips over Cameron’s notes on the pages. Drats, was she tearing up? The last thing she wanted was for Cameron to see her crying. In the back hallway, she found a door marked with a handwritten sign that said “bathroom” in bold red letters. Slipping inside and closing the door with a bang, she was horrified when the door knob clattered to the floor. She heard a metallic thump on the other side as well. Perfect. The rod had fallen through.
Slipping one finger through the empty hole where the knob had been, she tugged. Nearly tore a nail off and the darn door didn’t budge. She gave the door a good kick that did absolutely no good. The guy in the kitchen had switched stations, turned up the volume and was singing along. She thumped on the door with both hands. “Help! I’m stuck in here!”
The only response was a roll of the drums.
Harper took a deep breath. The sun might be setting, but the heat in this bathroom had been building all day. Thank goodness she was only wearing a T-shirt and her cut-offs. She started to pick at her lime nail polish. At some point, one of the guys would have to use this room, right? She slid to the floor, drowsy in the heat.
When she woke up, the sawing and hammering had quieted. No music playing. For a second, she panicked. Then footsteps on the stairs above jolted her upright. Heck, she’d know that stride anywhere. “Cameron? I’m in the bathroom!”
When the door banged open, she looked up, wiping her eyes.
He held out the red and white cooler that almost matched the sweat-soaked bandanna around his head. His pale jeans looked soft, cupping lean muscled legs. “This yours?”
“Yes.” She choked out the word.
Cameron set down the cooler, along with a can of pop.
“Hey, you okay?” When he ran his hands up her bare arms, shivers used Harper’s body as a dance floor.
“Ye-es.”
“You sure as hell are not.” Tugging the gray T-shirt from his jeans, Cameron dabbed at her eyes. One look at those toned abs and her heart began hammering against her ribs. Under his trim suits was the body of a Greek god. Her absurd physical response slammed her like a piece of pipe, smack across her stomach.
“Level with me. Have you been crying?” he persisted.
“Yes. No.” She tried to push some stray hair back up into her barrette, but a lock caught in her green hoops. “I got trapped.”
“Happens to all of us at one time or another.” With a slow smile, he worked to slip her hair free. One finger did a sweep of her cheek.
“It does?” She let her cheek fall into his hand.
“You bet. Lord, your skin is so soft,” he murmured. Fumbling, he reached down for the pop. “Here, take a sip.”
“Root beer. My favorite.”
“I know.”
Grabbing the can, she pressed the cool metal to one flushed cheek and managed a whispered, “Thank you,” before taking a sip.
“You look like you could stand something stronger than root beer,” he murmured.
Oh, she needed way more than the pop.
And that was a bad, bad thought that could get any girl into trouble.
~.~
He was in deep shit.
“This’ll do nicely, Cameron. Thank you.” Sweat beaded Harper’s nose as she popped open the can, holding it to a figure that took Cameron’s mind on a wild ride. Her torn Tybee Island T-shirt made her look outrageously sexy. Whatever had been bothering her, Cameron wanted to fold her into his arms and tell her that everything would be all right.
But this was a woman who didn’t take help kindly. Catwoman? That night she left him wondering if she really liked to wield that whip. He’d never been into that but this was a girl who could make a man think twice. “This reminds me of that first night,” he murmured.
“Not my finest moment.” When Harper chewed on her lower lip, his mouth got as dry as sawdust.
“I thought you were…great.”
“Really? No.” She dropped her gaze, and he heard her swallow. “You’re doing a great job here. I, ah, saw the drawings.”
Cameron pulled his mind from thoughts that made his jeans tighten. “Think we can work together on this project? We’d, ah, make a good team.”
“Maybe.” Taking a couple deep gulps of pop, she finally came up for air. “Yum, this is so good.”
“Yum. Right.” Need awakened in his gut, a beast teased from a long nap.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Want a sip?” She held out the can.
He grabbed the can. His hearty glug, glug was embarrassingly loud. Cameron didn’t give a rip. Heart like a jack hammer, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and handed the can back. Trying not to stare at the rapid rise and fall of her chest that jumbled the letters of Tybee Island, he lifted his gaze. Her hazel eyes had turned to taupe, a color he’d like for his favorite office armchair.
Must be the heat.
Might be his heat.
Desire rampaged through his body like high tide spilling into the Savannah marsh.<
br />
Her lips parted. “Cameron?” A delicate frown brought her brows together.
Taking the pop can, he set it on the sink and drew her into his arms. “Come here, little girl.”
At first, Harper jerked tight. Then her body released, every damn curve settling against his body. He kissed her damp forehead and she sighed. For just a second, uncertainty riddled him. After all, she was his employee. Harper’s slow smile deepened her eyes to cat-tail brown. Maybe that was the color for the damned chair.
“Aren’t there rules about this?” she whispered.
His lips trailed the edge of her chin. One shoulder bumped up, and he eased it down, burying his lips in the soft hollow of her neck. She smelled like citrus and his tongue flicked out. Tasted like it too. “Never pay much mind to rules.”
“In the mood to break some, are you?”
He left her neck unwillingly and considered those full lips. “Hell, yes.”
“Gonna enjoy it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Oh, I hope so. Me too.” And she sighed.
Her body felt warm, like she’d been baking in the sun at Tybee. The memory of her tiny bathing suit that day stoked his heat. Cameron tightened his grip until he could feel every mind-bending curve that had kept him awake at night since that Sunday.
She jerked away, and cool air cut an unwelcome swath between them. “Wait a minute. What about Kimmy?”
“We both decided it would never work. I think she’s relieved.”
“Are you?” Harper’s arms tightened around his neck.
“What?”
Harper ripped something from her hair. Curls spilled to her shoulders in liquid caramel waves. “Any regrets after you called it quits?”
“Wouldn’t be here if that were the case.”
Harper raked her fingers through her hair and pursed her lips. He was toast.
Didn’t matter that it must be ninety-five in here. Didn’t matter that they were stuck together like super glue. When he kissed her, Harper sighed through slightly parted lips.
He liked the sigh. Liked the kisses that got longer, hotter. Wetter. Their tongues did some exploring, the kind that doesn’t need a map.