The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series)

by Pamela Browning

  Paige felt a rush of relief. "Oh, Chad," she said, "you know I'm not going to be entertaining any man in my bedroom." She smiled at him, and for an instant there was a flash of communication between them. Remembering her plans for the day, she became suddenly serious.

  "I—I'll leave you to your work," she stammered, effectively ending the meaningful moment before retreating and almost running back to the Manse.

  After Chad's wholehearted expression of faith in her, she felt like a traitor, but there was no way she could reciprocate it as long as he persisted in remaining a man of mystery. She intended to spend her day checking up on him as planned. She only wished she didn't feel like such a sneak about it.

  The big inboard motor of the Chris Craft started smoothly, and she eased the boat away from the dock without problems. She'd be well on her way to Brunswick before Chad even realized that she was gone.

  After an uneventful transit, she eased Paige One up to the picturesque shrimp docks on Bay Street in downtown Brunswick. Here the air smelled of an odd mixture of brine and machine oil. A few shrimp boats hadn't gone out with the fleet, and they rocked gently at their moorings. Onlookers stood about, mostly tourists. One taciturn fellow with a red beard and an upstanding thatch of red hair helped her secure the boat without saying a word.

  "I have business to attend to in town," she told him, and he nodded.

  "Figured you did. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on your boat." He ran an appraising eye over the Chris Craft. "Looks like the one Chad Smith was going to buy. Is it?"

  "Yes, it is," she replied, thinking rapidly. Perhaps this man knew Chad and could tell her something about him. "Are you a friend of Chad's?" she asked brightly in a conversational tone.

  "Nope," he said. "But I know him, all right."

  Paige couldn't figure out from his expression whether his opinion of Chad was good or bad.

  "Have you been acquainted long?"

  The man fixed her with a long thoughtful look. "I guess it's been long enough to know that he wouldn't want me talking about his business," and with that he walked away and leaned against a tar-spattered piling, folded his arms across his chest, and stared out across the water.

  Chastened, Paige left the dock and walked up the street. It was encouraging to find someone who knew Chad. It meant that there might be others who wouldn't be as reluctant to tell her about him.

  Brunswick was much as she remembered it—small town, but well kept. She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and called the aunts at Emma's house. No one answered, so she left a voicemail asking them to check in with her during the next couple of hours while she was in Brunswick and her phone was operative.

  She stopped at the post office to pick up the mail. There was a letter in Aunt Biz's handwriting, and she stuffed it in her bag to read later. She was in a hurry to get to the bank. After that she'd backtrack to the library to do an internet search on Chad Smith.

  The aunts' bank hadn't changed much on the outside, so she was unprepared when she went in and saw that the personnel all seemed different from the ones she remembered. There had been a railing here, she thought as she stood in front of the president's office, and a line of big mahogany desks that had been replaced by a row of cubicles. She was roused from her reverie when a cool voice said, "Yes, may I help you?"

  She swiveled around to face Glynis McGuire.

  She was totally unprepared to encounter Glynis's pointed cat face here, and she was so surprised that she momentarily forgot what she had been planning to say. At least, she noted with satisfaction, Glynis seemed equally startled to see her.

  They stared blankly at each other for a moment.

  Paige recovered first. "Hello, Glynis," she managed to say. "I've come to see the president of the bank. It used to be Mr. Lingfelt," and she craned her head around to look in the office beyond, wondering if it was still Mr. Lingfelt.

  "It's Mr. Hightower now." Glynis's voice was businesslike, brusque. Glynis made a show of scrolling down her computer screen. She narrowed her eyes at Paige. "Would you mind telling me what you want to see him about?"

  "It's a private matter," she said.

  "I'll see if I can squeeze you in." Glynis minced on too-high heels across the plush carpet to Mr. Hightower's door. A whispered conference, a cough, a gruff remonstrance. Then at last Glynis returned. "It's okay, but he only has a few minutes," she said.

  Paige paused at the door of the office, sizing up the man. Instead of Mr. Lingfelt's comfortable pear shape, this man was spare and lean. Instead of Mr. Lingfelt's shiny bald head, a sparse slick covering of greasy black hair. And instead of Mr. Lingfelt's round friendly face, a hawk-nosed, sharp-chinned expression of annoyance.

  "What can I do for you?" Jacob Hightower was decidedly impatient.

  "I'm Paige Brownell," she said, stepping forward and extending her hand. His handshake was cold and limp. "My aunts are Sophie and Biz Farrier. I believe you handle their financial affairs."

  Hightower nodded. "Yes. I don't see how that concerns you."

  "It concerns me very much," she said briskly. "I'm worried about my aunts' financial situation, and I thought that maybe you could answer a few questions for me."

  "I can't violate my clients' privacy," said Hightower, his thin lips set in a prim line.

  "I understand. But I am their family, and your bank has been in charge of the Farrier family trust for many years now. And I'd like to know what part Chad Smith plays in my aunts' financial affairs."

  Hightower fixed his protruding eyes on her for a long moment.

  "I'm not prepared to tell you actual dollars and cents. But I don't mind saying that your aunts have given Chad Smith their power of attorney. He plays an important part in their financial dealings, and he's the one with whom you should be discussing this."

  Paige had been sitting on the edge of her chair, but she was so stunned at this startling information that she leaned back and stared at Jacob Hightower. Never in her wildest imaginings had she dreamed that Aunt Sophie and Aunt Biz would take such drastic action.

  She knew that power of attorney meant that Chad had been appointed to act for the aunts in legal and financial matters, and that usually power of attorney was conferred by those who are ill and unable to conduct their own affairs. In the aunts' case, this meant that Chad Smith exercised complete control over their money. Aunt Biz and Aunt Sophie were in good health, so why would they turn everything over to Chad? Unless, and the thought made her feel sick, Chad had coerced them.

  "Just—just what does Chad do?"

  "He decides where their money should be spent, directs their investments, and handles transactions. As I suggested, if you want to know more about it, ask him."

  Paige drew a deep breath and rose abruptly from her seat. "I will," she said darkly. "You can be sure of that." A brief goodbye, and then she was facing Glynis, who had been standing much too close to the door.

  "Tell Chad that I have those papers ready," said Glynis with a knowing smile. "I'm sure he'll be eager to see them." Paige stared blankly at Glynis for a moment before brushing past her. Tell Chad? She'd have something to tell Chad, that was for sure.

  She was so distressed by her interview with Mr. Hightower that she scrapped plans for an internet search of Chad's background. A quick check of phone messages informed her that neither Sophie nor Biz had returned her call, so she made tracks to the dock. As she loosened the lines that tethered the Chris Craft, her mind reeled with unsettling thoughts. She simply could not fathom how the aunts could turn control of their money over to an itinerant handyman.

  Back at St. Albans, she ran up the path to the Manse, where she found no sign of Chad. He wasn't in the basement either, and a glance toward the edge of the forest showed a neatly stacked pile of firewood, but Chad was gone. She put her hands over her face for a moment, massaging her eyes and willing herself to relax. She wanted to be composed and in charge of herself when she presented Chad with what she knew.

  Downstairs, she stoo
d on the front porch, wondering where to look first, but the problem of his whereabouts was solved when she heard full-bodied robust singing from the direction of Aunt Biz's garden patch. Paige hurried around the corner of the house and along the path through the woods. She came to the garden and stopped in consternation.

  Chad was hoeing between the rows. She couldn't figure out what tune it was that he was singing, and he stopped when he saw her.

  "So you're back from your little jaunt," he said amiably. "If I'd known you were here, I wouldn't have been singing that song. It's not fit for a lady's ears. Hope it didn't offend you."

  Paige hadn't been paying any attention to the words, but he had effectively deflected her from what she had been planning to say. "I'm not offended," she said. "I didn't really hear it."

  "Good. It's an old sea shanty, English, I think." Chad presented a peculiar picture, leaning on Aunt Biz's hoe as he was. It was a pose that was definitely out of character for him. "I can't imagine why," he said, "but Aunt Biz does this once a week or so. I've never figured out what the purpose of hoeing is, have you?"

  "Weeds," said Paige distractedly. "It's supposed to get rid of the weeds." How could she confront Chad when he ran his eyes over her so disarmingly, how could she accuse when she melted at the very sight of him? She gathered herself together and looked him straight in the eye.

  "Chad, I've been to my aunts' bank," she said bluntly.

  Chad raised his eyebrows and waited for her to go on.

  "I talked with Mr. Hightower. He told me—" In mid-sentence she was losing her nerve.

  "He told you what?" Chad's voice was neutral and didn't give anything away.

  "He told me that you control my aunts' money. I want to know why." A bee buzzed around her head and landed on her hair. Chad, within arm's reach, put out a hand to brush it away. Unaware of the bee, she thought he had other intentions. Too late she saw the bee buzzing away in search of a more accommodating flower and realized that Chad had only been protecting her. Embarrassed at her skittishness, she turned away.

  Chad sighed and threw down the hoe. "Well, that's enough of this for one day. I wasn't cut out to be a gardener, anyway."

  "I don't think you were cut out to be a handyman, either," Paige said, unable to resist. He regarded her in a manner that could only be described as rueful. As though he wanted to say something, but couldn't. Or wouldn't. Or perhaps shouldn't.

  "Maybe you're right," he replied. Silence for a moment, and then he said, "Look, Paige, can we talk this over? Or are you now convinced that I'm a jerk and a fortune-hunter that there's no point in it? Can you listen to reason?"

  Paige wanted things explained so that all the pieces fitted neatly and happily together. Most of all, she had to make sure that Aunt Biz and Aunt Sophie were safe, not victims of their own kindness to a stray. She sighed. "All right. Let's go somewhere and you can tell me your side of the story. That is, if you will."

  Chad didn't say anything, but he took her hand and led her along the rows to a wooden park bench beneath a persimmon tree at the edge of the clearing. They sat on it and Chad half-turned to face her.

  "I don't really know how to begin explaining this," he told her. "Why don't you just tell me what you know?"

  "I know what I've told you—that you control of my aunts' money, which has been in my family for generations. Aunt Biz always took such pride in her management of the trust. I can't understand her relinquishing control. Especially to you."

  Chad gazed into the distance. When he looked back at her, he seemed sincere enough. He shrugged with a little smile. "She wanted to. That's all I can tell you."

  "She wanted to turn control of her money over to a complete stranger?"

  "I'm not exactly a complete stranger. I've lived here for months, and I treat the aunts like my own. I like them, and they trust me. That's all there is to it." Chad met her skeptical gaze steadily.

  "That's not all there is to it, Chad Smith!" Paige was angry that he thought her so gullible. "What did you say or do to make them 'trust' you?"

  "I didn't have to do or say anything. And I might add that your aunts' money has never been safer."

  "Safe? You can go out and buy an expensive new boat without their permission and I'm supposed to believe that their money is safe?"

  "Calm down, calm down," said Chad, placing a restraining hand on her arm. "You agree that they need the boat. There's no harm in it. They'll be delighted when they see it."

  "Yes, but don't you understand? How do they know that you're not spending money right and left? How do I know that you're not stashing it away someplace for the day you just up and decide to leave here, how do I know that you're not squandering it on useless playthings or—"

  She stopped talking because she'd had a staggering thought. Those horses in the stable, the beautiful horses so obviously of good breeding. The deference of the stable attendant, a respect not usually accorded to a wandering handyman who was allowed to exercise the horses in his spare time. Max and Damien—had they perhaps been bought with her aunts' money?

  Paige was certain that the horses belonged to Chad. She should have known it when she saw him with them and noticed the way they both responded to him. And where else would someone like Chad get the money to buy horses of such high quality?

  "Paige, I'm not squandering your aunts' money. I give you my word. And I have no need of useless playthings. I—" but he stopped and seemed unwilling to finish the sentence. "You'll just have to take my word for it, I guess," he finished grimly.

  "How can I take your word for anything? Your background, your reason for being here—I know nothing about you!" Her voice had risen uncontrollably; her hands were clenched in her lap.

  "You're aware of a few things about me," Chad said smoothly. "We know each other rather well, you and I. This morning, when you begged me to believe that there was nothing between you and Stephen despite suspiciously incriminating circumstances, I knew you well enough to believe you were speaking the truth. Trust me, Paige."

  He tipped a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head so that she had to look at him. The expression on his face was intense and earnest. She sensed a wavering in his position, a tentative lowering of the façade, almost as though he willed her to guess his secret.

  For a moment, a split second, she nearly thought that he might be willing to stop whatever game he was playing and reveal himself to her. But no, it was not to be. He had closed himself away from her. She wrenched herself out of reach, thinking she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

  But he wouldn't let her go. When she would have stood up and run back through the garden and along the path to the Manse, he grabbed her by the shoulders and with surprising force held her where she was. She bent her head, weakened by his show of strength. She was no match for him, and she knew it.

  "Look at me," he demanded. Slowly she raised her face to his. His expression unfathomable but she sensed underlying tenderness and concern.

  He spoke, and his words were measured and carefully spoken. "Paige, I wouldn't lie to you. I'm doing your aunts no harm, I swear it. Believe me."

  How could she not believe him when he spoke so convincingly? He had shown his concern for her aunts in countless ways, so why would she think that he would treat them unscrupulously? Her instinct told her to trust him, and yet her common sense wouldn't let her.

  "I—I'm going to discuss with Aunt Sophie and Aunt Biz your handling of their money," she said haltingly. "I'm going to find out what you did to convince them that you should be in charge of it."

  Chad's gaze didn't waver. "Go ahead," he said, sounding resigned. His hands still grasped her shoulders, and she moved backward to put distance between them.

  Then it was happening again—she was whirled away in a vortex of passion in spite of herself. He lowered his head slowly, slowly, so slowly that her mind had time to register the birdsong overhead and the whispering of the leaves in the breeze. It couldn't be happening again, but it was, a
nd in an agony of pleasure she thought, only for a moment, and then lost herself in anguished expectancy.

  Chad's lips took hers softly, then with breathtaking intimacy. As always, she responded, forgetting her doubts, her uncertainties, and her fears. For a moment there was only Chad, and they were together. She knew then, with agonizing certainty, that she was hopelessly in love with him. But that didn't mean she accepted his reassurances without question.

  She made herself pull away and stood up. She almost spoke, but no words seemed adequate. Before Chad could say or do anything more, she wheeled and ran.

  It wasn't until much later, when she was lying in her bed that night thinking about Chad, that she remembered the letter from her aunts. She switched on the light and rummaged in her handbag. Quickly she scanned the two-page letter, and with a sense of relief, she folded it and put it away. Aunt Sophie and Aunt Biz would be back two weeks from today.

  Later, after she had turned out the light, she remembered that she had forgotten to give Chad Glynis's message.

  Chapter 9

  In the aftermath of her realization that she loved Chad, one thing seemed clear. Nothing would be worse than for Chad to find out how she felt about him, particularly if his intentions on St. Albans were less than honorable. No matter how difficult it might be, she'd have to distance herself from him both emotionally and physically, now more than ever.

  The next morning she decided that she absolutely would not seek out Chad to tell him that Glynis had papers ready for him. Anyway, what kind of papers were they? Something to do with his management of her aunts' money, no doubt. Well, she had no intention of acting as a go-between in this business. She would have to talk with Aunt Biz and Aunt Sophie first and find out why they had been seemingly rash enough to assign him their power of attorney.

  Chad would be working in the dining room this morning. He'd painted two walls and would finish the job today. She looked around the big kitchen with satisfaction. It was much more cheerful now that the walls were painted a mellow gold color, and she herself had washed, starched, ironed and hung the limp eyelet-ruffled curtains at the windows. The dining-room walls were now a subdued ivory, and when its draperies had been shaken free of dust and rehung, the room would shine with its former elegance.