“Why are you working in a hair salon?” The tone in her voice and the pinched look on that wrinkled face said she did not approve. “I should think a well-qualified individual would seek employment in a business environment, not a place like that.” Robert cleared his throat, stared at his plate. “Well? Are you qualified for employment in a more suitable establishment, Natasha?”
Natasha?
“Mother,” Robert’s voice rolled along the tablecloth like a pea that didn’t know if it should turn right or left, “It’s Natalie.”
“Oh.” Marjorie Trimble leaned toward Natalie, her beaky nose pointed in the air. “Natalie,” she corrected, and then continued on as though she hadn’t just hurled an insult by calling Natalie the wrong name. “Appearances and perceptions are essential and one must give a care to both. My ex-husband didn’t understand their importance and suffered for it.” A tiny smile cracked her lips. “Yes, indeed he did. Robert says you’re looking for something a little more respectable in a town that doesn’t have so many busybodies. I know all about Magdalena, indeed I do. The woman my dead ex-husband took off with had a sister who lived there and you’d have thought the place was a paradise the way she went on and on, as though it were more than a dot in the middle of the forest. I never much cared for it.” She sniffed and lifted a bony shoulder. “Why a person would get all excited over a piece of coconut cream pie or a park bench is past my comprehension. She used to talk about that Italian man and his wife, said they were the nicest couple and do you know why? Because the man doled out zucchini and tomatoes like they were mints in a candy dish.” She dabbed her thin lips with a napkin, frowned. “The world does not consist of handouts and bowls of pasta, which his wife apparently cooked for the less fortunate.”
Natalie sat very still, hands clasped in her lap, gaze fixed on the gold cross dangling from Marjorie Trimble’s neck. The woman must be talking about Pop Benito and his wife. What other “Italian man” gave away vegetables from his garden and bowls of pasta? Why did she talk about Pop and Lucinda Benito as though helping others could be a bad thing? Natalie stared harder at the gold cross. She bet there were diamond chips embedded in the cross, a gift from her ex-husband? Or had Robert given it to her? Because he wanted to, was it out of duty? Natalie bet duty had a lot to do with it, plus a hunk or two of good old-fashioned guilt.
And I told Robert he needed to find a profession that would enable him to take care of his responsibilities…
Robert knows he has to think carefully before jumping into a decision…
He’s such a good boy…cares about his mother, don’t you, son?
There’s nothing like the bond between a mother and her son…built on love, loyalty, and duty…isn’t that right, Robert?
On and on it went until Natalie excused herself to the bathroom where she threw up the entire meal. As she sat on the floor of the tiny black-and-white-tiled bathroom with the moss-green rugs and toilet seat cover, she replayed the events of the night, beginning with the second she entered the tiny house with the tea cup collection lining the shelves in the living room and the crochet works displayed in afghans, doilies, and centerpieces. The house was packed with “stuff,” and she guessed the old woman could look upon an item and recall an event, a day, even a year. No doubt the memories all had to do with Robert or her ex-husband, the two men in her life: the one who’d escaped and the one who couldn’t.
When Natalie emerged from the bathroom, Robert’s brow creased with the look she recognized as worry, but he said nothing, not until they were cleaning the kitchen, out of earshot of his mother who sat in the living room, supervising.
“Are you okay?”
Natalie rinsed the platter that held the chicken, placed it in the drain board. Robert had informed her they couldn’t leave until the dishes were dried, put away, and coffee and chocolate cream pie served. As if she could eat without heaving again.
“Nat?” he whispered, leaning close enough to touch her shoulder. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
“Your mother’s crazy.” There, she’d said what she’d been thinking since he introduced her to Marjorie. “And I mean certifiable.” Getting the words out actually made her stomach feel better.
“She’s the nervous type, frets over everything. It’s not that she means to be difficult; it just comes out that way.”
Natalie doubted it just came out that way. Marjorie Trimble knew exactly what she was saying, right down to the tone of her voice and the intended message, and the only one who didn’t know was Robert. Could he not tell she was manipulating him? Her parents were no prizes, but they looked like real gems when she lined them up beside Robert’s mother. “She’s using you, Robert. Can’t you see that?”
He didn’t have time to respond because Marjorie’s whine split them apart. “Is the coffee almost ready? Do you want me to fix it? I can’t drink coffee after seven or I’m in the bathroom all night.” She sighed, let out another stream of complaints that matched the first set. “The doctor said if I have to get up in the middle of the night, I need to be very careful I don’t trip, and my path must be well lit. Robert, would you check my nightlights before you leave? I think one might be out and I hope I have a pack of spare bulbs. I just don’t know if I do. I meant to write it on the shopping list for you, but I might have forgotten.”
Natalie stared at him. “You do her shopping?”
A smattering of pink colored his cheeks. “Only when Mrs. Leminski can’t take her or she wants a specific item from a specialty shop.”
Just one more way to control him. What a conniver! Natalie turned to check on the subject of their conversation and no surprise, Marjorie Trimble was staring at her—an evil-eyed stare that said, Do not even think you’re getting my son. Natalie swung back around, sucked in a breath. That woman was the reason Robert hadn’t proposed and it didn’t matter if Natalie wore a dress to her ankles and carried a miniature bible in her pocket. Marjorie Trimble was not going to give up her son to anyone, especially not a bookkeeper in a hair salon who lived in the town where her ex-husband’s girlfriend’s sister lived. What a crock! What would the woman say if she knew Natalie worked on people’s faces and nails, not the salon’s books? From the looks of the old wrinkled crow, Marjorie needed a lot more than a facial.
“Nat?” Robert touched her hand, rubbed her thumb. “Don’t get all worked up, okay? We’ll figure this out.” More thumb stroking, a dip in that voice she loved, low, lower. “I love you.”
“Robert! What’s taking you two so long? It’s not like we had a twelve-course meal. What about the coffee?”
“I just have to fix your cup, Mother. Coming right up.” He rinsed his hands and dried them on a dishtowel, his gaze landing on Natalie seconds before he whispered, “We’ll talk later.”
The rest of the evening consisted of Marjorie complaining about everything from the specialty coffee she called bitter, the chocolate cream pie that wasn’t sweet enough, the remote control that was too cumbersome for her arthritic fingers. On and on it went, those beady eyes landing on Natalie every tenth sentence, followed by a voice that said, “You’ll see one day, just you wait until you’re my age.”
Natalie didn’t inhale a clean breath until she and Robert were in the car and heading away from his mother’s house. By then she had the beginnings and middle of a killer headache and wanted to forget this night and all the obstacles that stood in the way of a life together, including one very large boulder named Marjorie Trimble.
“Nat? Why so quiet?”
She kept her eyes closed, her breathing even. Was she ready to discuss all the levels of wrong that happened tonight? Maybe she should pretend she was asleep so she could hold onto their old relationship a little while longer because once she started talking, he was not going to like what she said. Soon, she’d tell the man she loved that he had a choice to make and it was either Natalie or his mother. Her chest ached with the very real possibility that he might not choose her.
* * *
And what about them? He was lying to her, and knowing what he did about her dead husband, wasn’t that an extreme betrayal? Of course it was. It didn’t take a person with a stack of degrees to see that. A lie was a lie and Adam Brandon had never been a liar. He cared about Bree, crazy, zany, and unpredictable as she was. He wanted to spend time with her, maybe a lifetime, but he was not going to do it with this lie between them. That’s where Rex came in.
“Care for a glass of iced tea?” Rex glanced at the clock on the wall. “Or a scotch? Got whiskey, too, if that’s your preference.” He rubbed his jaw, nodded. “I’m guessing you’re a scotch drinker.”
Adam smiled. “You guessed right. If you’re having one, I will, too.”
Rex made his way to the liquor cabinet, pulled out two glasses and a bottle of scotch. “I used to polish these off with my buddies like clockwork. But then one moved away, another had a heart attack, and I had my own share of health scares that made me think twice before pouring a drink.” He handed Adam a glass, sank into the recliner next to the sofa, and raised his glass. “To the future of MacGregor Cabinets.”
Adam saluted with his glass, took a drink. “Actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about.” He paused, met the older man’s gaze. “The future of your business.”
“I’m listening.”
There was a definite chill in the man’s voice. Had her father noticed how Bree and Adam acted toward one another, maybe started to suspect something was going on between them? It’s not as if Rex was in the office every day, but he was there enough to pick up on a change in their behavior—if he were looking for it. When Adam left tonight, any suspicions the man might have would be confirmed. He pushed out the words that would lay the groundwork for the truth. “Bree’s doing a great job. She’s been very helpful.” She’d been helpful last night, too. Visions of her soft skin and ambitious fingers swirled through his brain, landed in his crotch. He pushed them back, hard. “She’s a very eager learner.”
That made Rex scowl. “What exactly are you teaching her?”
“Sir?”
The scowl deepened. “I said what are you teaching her?”
Adam met his gaze, let the half truth spill out. “She’s learning about efficiency, productivity, and value-added versus nonvalue-added time.” But what he didn’t tell Bree’s father was the rest of what he and Bree were learning. If he only knew. Who’d been the teacher last night and who’d been the student? He’d never met a woman with so much passion, spirit, and emotion. There was no pretending with Bree, no holding back or playing shy. She’d made love to him with her hands, her mouth, her whole body, and when he lay spent and exhausted, trying to catch his breath, she’d nibbled his ear, traced her tongue along his neck, and made him want her all over again. Did she never tire? He’d found a way to pull a moan and a sigh from her, made her whisper his name as he pleasured her, made her shout his name when she came. He wanted more. One night was not enough, but it wasn’t just that. He wanted more of Bree the woman, in and out of bed. “Her husband was a fool.” Damn, had he really said that out loud?
“A fool? Damn straight the jerk was a fool.” Rex downed the rest of his scotch, wiped a hand across his mouth. “He had everything and it wasn’t enough. Asshole. My baby girl treated him like a king, never thought of her own needs, never made him grow up. Nope, she just kept telling him how wonderful he was, and me and her mama think it was because she was trying to make him into something he wasn’t. You know, call a cat a lion long enough and it becomes a lion.” He shook his head, sighed. “But not this guy. The more we all gave, the more he thought we owed him. Did she tell you I booted him out of the office?”
“No, I didn’t hear that one.” Bree hadn’t said much about her dead husband after the lunch at Lina’s Café where she spilled way more information than she intended.
“I thought I could train him to take over for me, but that boy didn’t have any interest or sense about running a business. All he wanted to do was collect a paycheck and spend the money. That’s when I booted him and gave Bree the opportunity for the spot.”
Adam sipped his scotch, thought about Bree stepping into the position her husband lost. “I’ll bet that didn’t go over well.”
“That would be the understatement of the year.” Rex frowned, stared at his empty glass. “He was pure miserable and that’s when he started on her—the tormenting, the meanness, making her feel like she didn’t belong in the job. Whatever she did wasn’t good enough for him anymore, but the reason was obvious. He didn’t want a strong woman who stood up for herself, asked questions, or had an opinion.”
Rex eased out of his chair, made his way to Adam, and took his glass. “Brody Kinkaid didn’t know what that meant, unless it was his opinion. That man wanted a dictatorship and he wanted the child-bride he married, not the woman she became.” He poured two more scotches, handed Adam his, and took a healthy swallow. “And when she couldn’t be that woman anymore, he went and found somebody who could.” His voice cracked. “He tried to destroy our Bree and he almost succeeded.”
Didn’t Rex see that withholding the truth about Adam’s real purpose at MacGregor Cabinets would only serve to further ruin her trust in anyone, especially men? He had to make the man see that she already had trust issues and piling on untruths or hidden agendas would make it worse. “I don’t want to see Bree hurt any more than she’s already been.” He met Rex’s gaze, forced out the words he’d been practicing since Bree left his bed early this morning. “I care about her, and if she’s going to trust me, I can’t pretend I’m here for a reason other than the real one.”
Bree’s father stared at him, his jaw set, eyes narrowed. “Care about her? What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Adam had never had a problem gaining approval from parents to spend time with their daughter. In fact, most parents were thrilled, some a bit too thrilled, like the ones who started talking about the future and kids before the third date. But it didn’t look like this parent would fit into that group. The red face and balled fist said the man didn’t like the idea of him getting anywhere near his daughter for more than business. Too late. “Well, sir, it means I like spending time with Bree and I’d like to spend more time with her.”
“Doing what?”
The tone of his voice said he had a few ideas about what Adam had in mind and they started and ended with his “baby girl” undressed. But that wasn’t true: Adam was interested in more than Bree’s soft skin and tantalizing touch. He was interested in her. “Getting to know her.”
“Look here, Adam. I think you’re a nice guy, probably one of the nicest to come through these parts. But let’s face it; you’re a short-timer. Once you get the numbers in line, you’ll head back to Chicago and Bree will never hear from you again.”
“That’s not necessarily true.” Who could say what would happen when his analyses were complete? He might hang around Magdalena for a while, or Bree could visit him in Chicago. Sure, why couldn’t she do that? They could have dinner with Roman and Angie, take in a show, a few meals, whatever Bree wanted. And maybe later, she could bring the girls with her and they’d walk up and down Magnificent Mile, visit a museum, eat pizza
. Who had better pizza than Chicago? Why not? Why the heck—
“What’s your plan, Adam? Roman said you didn’t do anything on a whim, that you were logical and practical, and that’s why you were the best for this job. But what you’re suggesting isn’t logical or practical. Damn, it’s plain crazy. I love my daughter but she’s not high society.” His gaze shifted from Adam’s loafers to his tie. “You two come from different worlds and once you open your eyes, you’ll see it, if you haven’t already. And the girls, what about them? Hell, it takes a special person to raise another man’s daughters. You think you’re that man?”
The look and the tone said Rex MacGregor had an opinion about it and it wasn’t positive. “I don’t know if I’m that man,” Adam said in a quiet voice. “But I don’t know if I’m not either. As for Bree, I think you’re selling her short. She’s got a lot to offer that makes high-society women look boring.”
“Yeah, but what I’m wondering is if you’re willing to buy what she’s offering or if you just plan to rent it. You know, a few dinners, maybe some of those chocolate truffles she loves, some fancy words, a smile or two.” His words slid across the room, caught Adam in a stranglehold around the neck. “You know, just enough to make her think she’s more than short-term parking.”
What would Bree’s father think if Adam told him his daughter had been the one who’d resisted anything beyond the physical aspects of a relationship? Of course, he wouldn’t tell the man, but he wasn’t going to sit by and let Rex think he didn’t have honorable intentions where Bree was concerned. “I’ve never thought of Bree as short-term parking.” Adam finished off his scotch, stood. “I came here to tell you I want out. I already spoke with Roman about it and we’ve decided to give you a few names to call. Some are local consultants and there are a few in Chicago who do good work.”
A Family Affair: The Wish: Truth in Lies, Book 9 Page 17